


Show Me How To Live

by restless (cabinfever)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Captivity, Hurt Liam, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Rape, Recovery, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabinfever/pseuds/restless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kingdom!AU. Liam is the prince of England…that is, until his brother tells him about his husband-to-be from the Dragon Clan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Liam looked up from his reading when the head steward of the palace walked in, his back bent in a bow. “What is it, Simon?” he asked, a bit confused. Usually one of the servants would come to him to deliver messages, not his brother’s head steward.

“My lord, Kings Niall and Josh require Your Highness’s presence immediately. They say that it is urgent.”

Liam sighed and closed his novel, standing up from his window seat reluctantly. If his younger brother, the king, wanted something urgently, then he was most likely very serious. “Well, let’s go then, Simon.”

The steward bowed again and opened the bedroom door for Liam, closing it behind the prince to follow along at a discreet distance. They walked through the lavishly decorated hallways of the living quarters of the palace, making their way to the grand double staircase that led down to the throne rooms and banquet halls. As Liam turned to head down the stairs, he caught sight of a tan-skinned boy with jet-black hair watching intently from a room down the hallway on the other side of the staircase. Liam had never seen him before, and was tempted to run down the hall to investigate, but Simon urged him on gently, so he headed downstairs as the boy slipped out of sight. At the bottom of the stairs was the main foyer, and it was filled with hurriedly cleaning servants that bowed dutifully to Liam as he strode past, only returning to their work when the prince nodded in acknowledgement. “What’s with all the cleaning?” he asked the steward as they approached the entrance to the throne room.

Simon looked briefly uncomfortable, but soon regained his polished façade. “I can’t speak of that, my lord,” he replied evasively. “King Niall will explain everything.” He reached for the large gold handles of the massive mahogany doors and pushed the double doors open, gesturing to Liam to enter.

Liam walked quickly down the short aisle towards the dais where the kings’ ornate thrones stood. When he reached the bottom stair, he knelt to the two familiar figures. “King Niall, King Josh,” he murmured respectfully.

“For God’s sake, Liam, enough fancy talk!” Niall scoffed, lounging easily in his golden throne. “You’re my older brother, and we’re alone, so we can talk like normal humans.”

“I don’t mind either,” Niall’s husband, Josh, added in that lilting foreign accent of his. “I like you, and you have more of a right to the throne of Britain than us, so it is only fair that we talk as equals.”

Liam smiled. “Thank you, Josh,” he said. He then turned to Niall. “So, what was so urgent that I was immediately summoned from my reading?” he asked curiously, putting his hands on his hips.

Niall’s easy grin slid from his face, and he ran a hand through his brown-blond hair nervously. “The Dragon Clan has arrived from the Far North.”

Liam’s heart plummeted. The Dragon Clan was the fierce nomadic tribe that shared territory with the kingdom. In order to maintain peace between the two major powers, a treaty had been enacted generations ago that the children of the British royal family had to be married off to nobles from the Dragon Clan. The children were either sent off to live with the Clan or had the noble come rule by their side on the British throne. Josh was actually a man of considerable rank from the Dragon Clan, a cheerful foreigner eager to learn common English and who was devoted to Niall completely.

But the arrival of the Clan meant only one thing. It was time for Liam to be given off to his Clan suitor. It meant that Liam had to relinquish his freedom.

“They’re here now?” he croaked.

“Yes,” Niall answered. “They’re waiting just outside, if you’re ready to meet them.” He patted Josh’s hand where it rested on his husband’s throne. “Josh is excited to see some of his familiar old friends and catch up with them.”

“…Oh,” Liam whispered, feeling his heart race. “I suppose I’m ready,” he rasped, trying his best to appear like the high prince that he knew he was.

Niall smiled warmly. “Good, then,” he approved. He then clapped his hands twice. “Bring them in!” he called to the herald standing at the doors of the throne room.

The herald nodded and raised his trumpet, giving it a purposeful fanfare. “Harry Styles of the Dragon Clan!” he announced, and he tugged the grand door inwards.

In strode a tall, lanky, curly-haired boy of no more than eighteen or nineteen, about Liam’s age. He wore a long beige coat that hung below his waist, and dark brown breeches, looking well put-together and not at all like Liam had expected a nomadic tribesman to look like at all. He was flanked by two large guards that strode along beside him, armed with sheathed broadswords. As he came closer, Liam saw that Harry had twinkling emerald eyes that crinkled as he gave a wide smile. “Hello!” he said in English, but with a heavy accent that was the same as Josh’s. “I am Harry, one of the rulers of the tribe. And I believe you know my husband?” he asked with an amused tone to his voice.

He and his guards stepped aside to reveal a tall young man with tousled caramel hair and fierce blue eyes that sparkled with excitement. He wore dark breeches and a dark green jacket that was similar in design to Harry’s. He looked familiar.

He looked like Liam’s brother.

“Louis?” Liam cried, barely believing himself. Louis had been gone since he was sixteen and Liam was fourteen, and Liam had never known what had become of his mischievous older brother.

The handsome lad spread his arms wide. “C’mere, Liam!” he ordered cheerfully, and Liam happily threw himself into his brother’s arms. He felt Niall join the embrace, and heard Harry and Josh loudly and happily speaking to each other as they reunited.

The three brothers split apart after a few moments. “So, the Dragon Clan, huh?” Liam asked drily. “That’s where you’ve been for five years?”

Louis shrugged with a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t allowed to tell you or Niall, and Mom and Dad kept it hidden when I left…until they died.” The former prince allowed himself a brief expression of grief before he continued on. “I’ve been living with the Clan, and Harry is good to me. Not to worry,” he assured Liam.

“My betrothed…” Liam asked, still cringing at how the phrase rolled off his tongue. “Where is he?” He still surprised himself at how easily he’d adjusted to the idea and took it into stride, despite the fact that he probably should be afraid, or angry, or feel something. But there was nothing.

“He should be coming,” Harry commented from outside of their circle. “Usually he’s quite good at being punctual.”

At that moment, the herald raised his trumpet again. “Zayn Malik of the Dragon Clan!”

Liam snapped his head around so quickly that he heard the bones crack. He stared at the opening doors with a mixture of excitement and terror, not sure what to expect of this man. What he saw was surprising.

There must have been some kind of beauty in the genes of those in the Dragon Clan, for this boy who walked down the aisle had the same type of feral, unbridled magnificence as Harry. He was, Liam realized, that unknown tanned boy from the hallway. Now that Liam got to see him up close, he could see just how striking this man was. His eyes were flinty amber, and his lips were set in a slightly pouty frown. The sleeves of his black shirt were slightly rolled up, and Liam shivered when he saw the amount of tattoos marring the skin on his arms. The boy’s eyes scanned the group, pausing at Josh to give him a beaming grin, and then moved on to fall on Liam. There, the boy’s eyes turned interested and entranced.

“Liam,” Niall began, “this is Zayn Malik. He is one of the most powerful lords of the Dragon Clan. Zayn, this is Liam, my older brother and the crown prince of England.”

Liam bowed slightly, watching critically as Zayn did the same. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Zayn,” he murmured, drawing himself straight up again.

Zayn dipped his head in a reciprocation of the greeting. He was a quiet character, Liam noticed. He didn’t say much.

Louis drew closer with an eager smile. “Well, how’s about you two start to get to know one another, yes?” the auburn-haired young man asked, eyes flitting from Zayn to Liam.

“Dia indah,” Zayn muttered to Louis, who grinned and looked over at Liam.

“He says that you’re beautiful,” Liam’s older brother told him happily, looking gleeful at the turn of events.

Liam furrowed his brow, mind still reeling. “You know Terkutuk?” he asked, referring to the native language of the Dragon Clan.

Louis shrugged. “It’s hard to not learn the language when you’ve been living with them for five years.”

Liam glanced at his future husband. Zayn was admittedly gorgeous, but Liam didn’t want that to affect his feelings about marrying some random tribe leader. The tanned boy’s bright amber eyes bored into his, flicking around and looking at every inch of Liam, assessing him. Liam shifted under the scrutiny. “Well,” he muttered to Louis, trying to divert his own attention from the eyes that roamed freely. “You can tell him that I think that he is very handsome himself.”

“Kamu sangat tampan,” Louis told Zayn, who nodded and smiled happily, his eyes lighting up even more.

“Does he know any English?” Liam asked Louis desperately, because if he had to have a translator just to have an everyday conversation with this man, then he’d go crazy.

Zayn’s eyes flashed with a hint of anger, the happiness from moments ago disappearing from his face. “I know some,” he said deliberately, interrupting Louis who was about to answer. “I’m not stupid. You could ask me and not Louis.”

Liam frowned. “I didn’t know if you did, and I thought it’d be offensive if you didn’t and I talked to you as if you did.”

“It offends me more that you do not try to ask me,” Zayn spat back. He glared at Liam, and then turned to Louis, Harry, Niall, and Josh. “I will see you at dinner time,” he said stiffly before turning on his heel and leaving the throne room, knocking past Liam’s shoulder as he went.

Louis grimaced. “I forgot to mention that Zayn has quite a bit of pride. You’d do well not to injure it.”

Liam watched the disappearing figure shove past the blue-clad heralds with curious eyes. “Yes, that Zayn will prove to be a challenge,” he murmured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter; there's more to come!

Liam stepped into the grand banquet hall, momentarily blinded by the glimmering light reflected from the hundreds of chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceiling. The airy room was filled with dignitaries, warriors, and royals from both of the territories. A group of warriors from the Dragon Clan stood off to the right side of the hall, dressed in their native red, yellow, and black colors and holding black spears at attention. On the opposite side, knights of England watched through the slits in their formal helmets, sheathed swords at their waists. A massive oak table stood proudly in the center of the room, filled with goblets of fine wine and piled with native-made cheeses.

Standing in the middle of the room near the head of the table, Niall and Josh greeted nobles from the visiting Clan, wearing matching blue tunics, though Josh wore a crown with ruby, yellow diamond, and obsidian inlay to show his roots in the Dragon Clan.

Yes, there were Harry and Louis, standing together and talking politely with a duke from a far-off territory of Britain that Liam couldn’t be bothered to name. Liam still marveled at the amazing height of the Dragon Clan noble, his curly-haired head several inches above that of the older Louis. The two of them looked like a perfect match, dark and dangerous Harry with light and humorous Louis. Liam wondered if he and Zayn would ever look the same.

And then there he was, the man that had haunted Liam’s thoughts since they’d met earlier that day. He’d changed clothes, now in a bright scarlet shirt with black breeches, looking like a warrior ready to kill, his amber eyes scanning the room with well-trained accuracy. They fell on Liam.

Liam’s heart stuttered.

And Zayn’s eyes widened a fraction, and the hard lines of his well-shaped face softened into an expression of awe like that of earlier that afternoon. And Liam saw that that even though they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, Zayn was still stricken by him, as it was when Liam saw Zayn too.

Before he understood what was going on, his feet were moving towards the tribesman that was to be his husband, and they stood toe to toe once again.

“Prince Liam,” Zayn acknowledged him, voice smooth and accented in a way that made a shiver run down Liam’s spine.

Liam let his lips pull slightly into an answering smile. “Zayn Malik,” he replied, and he knew that the words had the desired effect.

He could feel the eyes of the room on him, yet no gaze burned him more than Zayn’s. “So I hear that the people of Britain have had a fine harvest this season,” the Clan leader said politely, words still smooth as oil.

“Yes, they have,” Liam replied with an equally guarded civility. “And the Clan?”

Zayn shrugged noncommittally. “We’ve had better harvests than this one, certainly.”

“The hunts are going well?”

“As they’ll ever be.”

“And what of the invading tribes from the nearby island?”

“We’re taking care of them.”

“I’m sure,” Liam answered. Zayn’s eyebrows rose a fraction.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Liam parroted Zayn by shrugging vaguely. “I’m merely well aware that the Dragon Clan are well learned in ways of war.”

Zayn’s dark lips pulled into a stony frown. “Yet you say these things as if you mean something else,” he countered, still composed despite his growing frustration.

“I know that your people are prone to using weapons without thought for what they’re killing,” Liam retorted, so annoyed with Zayn that he articulated each syllable with forced emphasis.

“You don’t know shit about my people!” Zayn screamed, stepping forward and into Liam’s space, nearly nose to nose with him.

Liam glared into the fiery amber eyes of his betrothed, of this man who he’d have to spend the rest of his life with. “I’ve know enough,” he spat, putting weight in his words that spoke of the rumors of raids, pillaging, and murder. “Your people killed my mother.”

“Liam!” Niall ordered from the head of the table, sounding affronted and in control. “We have forgiven and forgotten that mistake!”

“Well maybe I don’t want to forgive!” Liam shouted at his younger brother, for a moment diverting his attention from Zayn. “Maybe I want to remember the fact that my mother was killed by drunk tribesmen who didn’t have the brains to realize that they were shooting a human with their arrows and not an animal!”

Zayn grabbed Liam’s shoulder and yanked it around, forcibly turning the prince towards him. “You listen to me, Prince Liam Payne of England,” he snarled, accent strong and menacing in its full force. “You are going to be a part of this tribe by this time tomorrow. If I hear for a second any more of this disrespect, I will not hesitate to punish you as I would punish a member of my tribe for treason.”

Liam smirked. “But for now, Malik, you’re in my territory. I’d watch my step if I were you.”

Zayn shook his head and let go of Liam’s arm, letting out a sound of disgust. “You don’t understand what you’re walking into,” the tribe leader hissed, voice so strained with fury that it was no more than a whisper. “You’re just a naïve little prince from a posh land. You don’t understand the true meaning of a tribe.”

Liam lifted his chin in pride, a challenge and a defense. “Then perhaps you do not understand the true meaning of a family.”

The other boy’s eyes widened in fiery amber hatred. “I can’t believe I have to spend my life with you,” he growled. 

“Likewise,” Liam hissed.

For a moment, the two of them stood nose to nose, dangerous brown eyes glaring into scorching ochre. Then Liam pushed past Zayn with a snarl of anger, stalking out of the banquet hall past gaping nobles and uneasy-looking warriors.

He left the room and ascended to his bedroom, slamming and locking the door. A long gaze in the mirror that hung above the dresser showed him what he knew he looked like: tousled hair, red cheeks, and bright, adrenaline-fueled eyes. Unfit for any sort of ruler. Disgusted with himself, he turned away from the mirror and leaned against the dresser, rubbing his temples wearily.

Zayn Malik was going to be the end of him.

Just a night away from the wedding and they’d already managed to establish a firm sense of hatred between them, a feat not easily undone. It was unnerving, the way that the exotic tribe leader was able to unsettle him so easily.

The door to the room slammed open and Niall stormed in, blue eyes blazing with fury. “What the hell was that, Liam?” the king demanded. “In front of the nobles of both sides; in front of the warriors! What were you thinking, going at him like that?”

“Niall, I do not have the patience for this once more,” Liam told his younger brother, a deadly threat laced in his voice. “I made a mistake. I lost my temper. We both did. That’s it.”

Niall’s face was a mix of pity and frustration. “Liam, I do not want this to negatively affect our relationship with the Clan.”

Liam snorted in humorless laughter. “I think that marrying the crown prince off to their leader is fine enough.”

“I don’t think that this sort of approach is healthy in a relationship like this,” Niall pressed. “You’re going to end up getting hurt.”

Liam met Niall’s eyes sullenly. “What does it matter how I approach it? I’m still losing the only home I’ve ever known, and I’m losing you and Josh.”

“But you’ll gain Louis and Harry,” Niall contested with a hint of hope. “And maybe, later on, you’ll learn to love Zayn too.”

“But until then,” Liam muttered, “we’re stuck in this hatred between us.”

Niall frowned. “That’s up to you,” he stated with an air of finality. He left the room then, closing the door to leave Liam in silence.

Liam stared at the warm whorls in the mahogany door for a long moment, trying not to see amber eyes in the swirls of bright wood. Then he stood and strode to the bed, not bothering to strip off his clothing before tossing himself under the thick, warm covers.

That night, he dreamed of tanned skin and scarlet shirts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first seven chapters of this fic have existed before I got my account here, so that's why it's all posted today :)

Liam nervously adjusted the lapels of his suit, staring at his reflection in the mirror. This was the day of his marriage to the leader of the Dragon Clan and, simultaneously, the loss of any status in his home country of England.

The suit was made from a thin, layered silk; threads made from pure silver were interwoven to give the jet-black suit an unearthly sheen. An immaculate white shirt, also of silk, lay flat and sheer against his collarbones, the fabric allowing cool air to calm Liam’s racing heart. He raised shaking hands to nervously pat at his short fringe of sandy brown hair, fingers brushing the cold silver of the simple crown that circled his head. The familiar metal weight gave him a shiver of dread, for he would never be able to wear a crown like this ever again after today.

A tentative knock sounded at the door, and Liam turned in expectation as the door creaked open. To his surprise, it was Josh that entered, his golden crown glinting on his head. His simple black suit was also embroidered with the colors of the Dragon Clan, as tribute to his native people. “Prince Liam,” he murmured, head bowed in a gesture of respect.

“King Josh,” Liam replied with a full bow, understanding the obvious show of formality during such an important event. “You should be readying for the ceremony,” he pointed out. “Why are you here?”

Josh’s eyes were dark with worry and sympathy. He walked forward and placed his hands on Liam’s shoulders, staring at him with an expression that reflected the steadfastness of his tribe. “I understand your worry and your fears as you enter this marriage,” he said slowly, “but rest assured that it will get better. You will be welcomed into the tribe with open arms, so long as you remember that you will no longer be an English man. Ask Louis for help, learn the language, and acclimate yourself with the rest of the tribe and its culture. You will be fine,” he assured Liam.

“And what about Zayn?” Liam asked, nearly fearing the answer. He was both intimidated by and – though he dared not admit it, not even to himself – slightly attracted to the fierce temper that was exuded by the powerful leader of the tribe.

“He is a very mysterious character,” Josh admitted, “but he is a wonderful man once you get to know him. I suspect you’ll get along quite well,” he told Liam with a knowing smile. “Your aggression is more…tension than anything, yes?”

Liam sighed in exasperation at the veiled meaning that the king was hinting at. “Sexual tension, you mean?” he inquired with a small laugh. “I’m not so sure about that, King Josh.”

Niall poked his head into the room, interrupting the conversation between the two royals. “Are we all ready to go?” the blond asked, eyes darting from Liam to Josh.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Liam murmured regretfully, taking one more glance into the mirror at his face, flushed and worried.

Liam’s younger brother smiled, patting Liam on the back. “Oh, and one more thing, Liam,” Niall began, shuffling his feet nervously. “When you get married into the tribe, you have to get a tattoo as a sign of status.”

“A tattoo?” Liam repeated incredulously. He was a civilized prince from Britain, not a savage from the Dragon Clan. Niall couldn’t honestly expect him to mar his skin with needle and ink. “You can’t be serious!”

The king nodded sadly. “It’s true, I’m afraid. It doesn’t have to be much. It may be of Zayn’s choice, as you will be his husband. It could be something of your own choosing. It’s all up to Zayn right now.”

“Of course it is,” Liam seethed, trying not to let his fear of the wild tribesman ruin him on this important political day.

Niall once again patted Liam’s back, this time with a touch more sympathy. “You’ll do fine. But now we all have to get out there. It’s time to marry our little prince here.” He looked his older brother over critically, smoothing a minute wrinkle out of the fabric of the suit. “And don’t worry, Liam,” he added quietly. “You may have a rough start, but I know that you and Zayn will turn out just fine.”

“I hope,” Liam murmured.

Niall’s blue eyes softened. “Come on,” he commanded Liam gently, pushing him out the door. “This is your day.”

Liam let out a deep breath slowly and left the room, entering the main foyer of the castle. All around, lords and ladies bedecked in silk and precious metals noticed him and bowed low, taking the cue to move to the ballroom just on the right side of the open hall. From inside, music started to flow, light and representative of the royals of Britain.

Taking it as a cue, Niall and Josh nodded to Liam and entered the ballroom together, striding through the doors and out of sight.

A tap on Liam’s back made him whirl in surprise, met by the sight of two small girls, one a British girl in dark blue, and the other a girl from the Dragon Clan, wearing a deep red dress. They each held an ornate golden box. Liam knew what was in them.

“Are you ready to go, Your Highness?” the British girl asked, only six years old but already full of striking loyalty.

“Yes, thank you,” Liam replied, touching the top of her head lightly. He did the same to the young Clan girl, who smiled with a missing front tooth. “Shall we go?”

The two girls arranged themselves on either side of Liam, and together the three of them entered the large ballroom, stepping onto an aisle of white silk. On either side of the aisle were thousands of nobles from either territory, eyes watching Liam with curiosity and expectance. Liam had no eyes for them, though. He was focused on what waited at the end of the aisle.

There was Zayn Malik, standing with a straight back on the raised dais that was covered in the same white silk. He wore a black suit as well, in a traditional English cut rather than the more free-flowing outfits of the Clan, and it shone with threads of gold even from Liam’s distance. Liam could already feel the burning weight of Zayn’s gaze on him, and he had to force himself not to lower his own gaze under the pressure.

Niall and Josh stood on the dais as well, their eyes focused on Liam. When he stepped up to their level at the end of the aisle, Niall’s eyes flickered before they turned back to the crowd amassed in the hall.

Liam ventured a glance up at Zayn. The tribesman’s stony amber eyes were almost like a cat’s, watching him with a predator’s instinct. Zayn’s anger at him from the previous night was evident in the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes, but Liam could see that there was still a trace of that fascination in Zayn.

He dared a small smile as Josh began the ceremony. To his surprise, Zayn’s lips twitched upward a little bit, and a hint of the darkness lifted from his eyes. Liam’s heart took an extra beat in hope. Perhaps…it wouldn’t be so bad to live with this man.

“We celebrate, once again, the union between two of the greatest powers in the known world. Zayn Malik and Liam Payne, of the Dragon Clan and of England, will today be married and will go on to rule the Dragon Clan in equal power as one.” Josh paused and glanced from Liam to Zayn.

Niall took up the control of the ceremony, speaking the words of the Dragon Clan marriage rite. “Liam Payne, do you swear to be loyal to your husband, Zayn Malik, to be his aid in battle, his mind in ruling, and his one and only so long as you carry on in this life?”

Liam swallowed and stared straight at Zayn, whose eyes had softened to nervous affection. “I swear,” he stated, hearing the echo of the two words reverberate through the hall.

“And Zayn Malik, do you swear to welcome your husband, Liam Payne, into your home, to be his comfort in sickness, his protection in danger, and his one and only so long as you carry on in this life?” Josh spoke this time, words filling Liam with a strange sense of euphoria, of expectation for the promise that would seal his fate.

“I swear.” Zayn’s words were intoned with a seriousness and certainty that struck straight at Liam’s heart, and his bright eyes sparkled with a smile not seen on his lips.

Niall nodded approvingly. “Then let the gifts be brought forth.”

Now the two girls stepped forward, the one from the Dragon Clan approaching Liam and the English child moving to Zayn. They held up their gilt boxes to each of the young men. It was customary in marriage for each person entering the relationship to present a permanent gift to wear, usually a piece of jewelry.

Liam hadn’t been entirely sure of giving Zayn a ring, since those were cumbersome in combat since they made it hard to wear gauntlets. Instead, he’d chosen to give the tribesman a simple necklace with a sturdy braided leather chain and a beautiful, ornately carved pendant inscribed with a traditional yin and yang symbol, the dot in each half of the symbol inlaid with a large diamond. The yin half of the pendant was made from ivory and the yang was made of obsidian. He watched Zayn’s reaction intently while the box was opened, smiling slightly when he saw the dark-haired boy’s pouty lips curve into an appreciative grin.

The young girl from the Dragon Clan opened her own box to Liam’s waiting eyes. Liam let out his breath in a whoosh at the sight of Zayn’s gift to him: a necklace as well, except it was a black cord with a series of three concentric circles as the pendant. The circles were impossibly small, the biggest one just a bit larger than a ring, and they sparkled bright silver with a dark blue sapphire hanging in the center. Liam looked over at Zayn, amazed by the quality of the gift from the seemingly savage tribe leader.

Josh spoke again. “Present the gifts,” he ordered gently.

Liam moved first, moving another step towards Zayn to lift the yin-yang necklace out of its box held by the English girl. He held it up, and Zayn bowed his head slightly. With trembling fingers, Liam slipped the necklace over Zayn’s head, his skin tingling where it brushed soft dark hair and warm flesh. He stepped back as Zayn lifted his head again, and it gave him a thrill of pride to see his necklace around the tribesman’s neck.

Then he waited while Zayn approached, lifting the black cord from the other box. He drew level with Liam, and for a moment the two of them stood face to face, Zayn’s eyes appearing more like a deep brown than the intimidating amber that Liam knew so well. He saw Zayn’s eyes flicker to his lips then back up again to meet his gaze before Liam bowed his head for the necklace. Liam shivered when he felt the cool clasp of the necklace rest on his neck, then froze when Zayn’s hot fingers lingered on his neck for a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.

“Now, do you accept these gifts of matrimony, and swear to forever wear them as a symbol of the union you share?” Niall asked, jerking Liam and Zayn from their locked state.

Liam nodded. “I do,” he answered.

“I do,” Zayn echoed, and his voice sounded dazed, almost boyish like when they’d first met.

“Then I, with the power invested in me as king of England, pronounce you husbands, leaders of the Dragon Clan, forever and always so long as you carry on in this life,” Niall announced, the words ringing through the hall with an air of finality. “You may now seal your marriage.”

For a moment, Liam was confused, unsure of what he was to do, but then Zayn was moving closer and his hands were on Liam’s hips and then he knew. He raised his own hands to Zayn’s broad shoulders and then their heads were drawing closer. Liam could swear that he could count the eyelashes that covered Zayn’s amber eyes but then all that he was thinking about were Zayn’s soft lips on his.

It was a blissful few moments, just Liam pressing closer to Zayn and Zayn doing the same because it was suddenly like they couldn’t get enough of each other. The last thing Liam could think about before they separated was the fact that Zayn’s lips tasted like cinnamon.

They broke apart, but Zayn’s hands stayed firmly on Liam’s hips, a clear statement of mine. The hall exploded into thunderous applause, nobles from both major powers cheering and calling the names of their new rulers.

Rather than breaking apart from Zayn to join with the crowd, Liam pressed himself against the older boy, arms going up to link around his neck. “Forgive me?” he asked, lips inches from Zayn’s.

Zayn’s smile was in his bright eyes. “I suppose I can consider that,” he whispered back, and that was when Liam knew that maybe everything could turn out all right.


	4. Chapter 4

The last noble bowed his way out of the darkened ballroom, leaving behind him the six royals of the Dragon Clan and England.

Louis’ eyes were bright and cheerful in the wake of hours of dancing and a few glasses of champagne. He grinned brightly at Liam, his smile turning radiant when Harry came up beside him and pressed a kiss to his neck. The two of them stumbled off in giggles, Louis waving a tipsy goodbye to Liam before they went in the direction of the stairwell, assumedly heading towards the bedrooms that waited there.

Niall drew up in front of Liam, hair slightly tousled and crown askew. “Congratulations, Liam,” he told his older brother earnestly. “Really, I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, though,” Liam protested, but nonetheless drew Niall into a tight hug, sealing nineteen years of brotherhood in a single embrace. “I’ll miss you so much, Niall,” he whispered into Niall’s soft blond hair. “I can’t believe I have to leave one brother just to spend the rest of my life with the other.”

“That’s life, mate,” Niall said softly, and his voice cracked slightly on the words. They pulled apart, and Niall gave his hands one last squeeze before heading off to the side.

Josh’s sparkling eyes and tattooed wrist replaced Liam’s younger brother, an ‘I told you so’ smile on his lips. “See? It turned out just fine,” the king murmured, and he also took Liam into a tight hug. Liam hugged back; Josh had grown to be just as much of a brother to him as Niall was.

“Thank you, Josh,” Liam said sincerely. “Really.”

“Take care of my tribe for me, Liam,” Josh whispered, and Liam could see the fierce homesickness in his eyes.

“They’re my tribe too now,” Liam reminded him, and Josh smiled before taking Niall’s hand and leaving the ballroom.

An arm rested itself tentatively on Liam’s waist, the fingers lightly squeezing the skin there. “You’re good to them.” Zayn’s voice was like honey in his ears.

Liam turned to face his husband. “I’ll miss them,” he murmured, and his voice caught in his throat, stopped by the lump of tears there. His eyes burned.

Zayn’s eyes softened and he drew Liam into a hug. “You can still see them every few years,” he murmured into Liam’s ear, his hand rubbing Liam’s back reassuringly.

“It’s not enough,” Liam choked. “Every few years…that’s like a lifetime.”

“I’m sorry, Liam,” Zayn murmured, the words sounding foreign on his tongue like he’d never said them before. “That’s just how it is.”

Liam shook his head, curling his hands in Zayn’s shirt and wondering why the hell he was taking so much comfort from a boy he barely knew. “I hate the way it is,” he growled.

“Most people do,” Zayn replied, voice barely audible.

Liam stepped out of Zayn’s embrace, wiping stray droplets from his cheeks. “I need some space,” he murmured, not meeting those captivating tawny eyes. “I’ll see you when we leave tomorrow.”

“Not leaving,” Zayn corrected. “We’re going home.”

Liam stepped towards the door to the stairway, glancing over his shoulder at the tall figure that commanded attention. “Your home, not mine,” he threw back, and he was out of the hall before Zayn could call out to him.

* * *

The horse nickered softly in its stall, great silver head poking over the wooden half door. Soft black-brown eyes glinted with loyal equine simplicity at him, a bond since birth emerging in the presence of his master.

Liam approached his horse with a smile on his lips. “Hey there, big boy,” he murmured to the animal, patting the snorting nose. He dug a sugar cube from his pocket, holding it out as the horse’s whiskered lips snuffled it up eagerly. He smiled wistfully, remembering giggling when he was presented with a knock-kneed foal back when he was nine. “Good, good, big boy, good Storm,” he murmured, stroking his horse’s muzzle affectionately.

He unlatched the stall door and entered the warm, hay-filled box with the warhorse that he’d grown comfortable with, hooking his fingers through the halter on Storm’s head. The touch alone turned the horse docile, and Liam easily guided the horse out of the stall and down the stable block towards the tack room. He hooked Storm’s halter to a rope attached to the wall and went into the tack room to retrieve his horse’s tack.

The halter was replaced by a bridle, and the handmade saddle and saddle blanket were quickly added with the practiced ease of a well-trained prince.

“Your Highness!”

Liam looked up from where he was crouched low, tightening the girth around Storm’s wide stomach, confused when he saw a stable boy bowing low to him. “What is it?” he asked warily.

“The kings would like to inform you that the Dragon Clan will be leaving the palace grounds in two hours. You are to be ready and report to the main gates with your horse and any extraneous possessions at precisely noon for the formal dismissal, Your Highness.”

Liam stood up, placing a hand in Storm’s salt-and-pepper mane. “Thank you very much for the message, but I’m not prince anymore,” he gently reminded the boy.

The young man’s ears turned red in embarrassment. “My mistake,” he mumbled. “It won’t happen again, sir.” He scampered off before Liam could reply and ease his fears of punishment.

“Bye, then.” Liam scowled at the ground, a pang of sorrow in his heart when he realized that he was no longer of any importance to the monarchy of England. He was just another family member that happened to be there, a visiting cousin of sorts because nobody needed him anymore. He slowly, laboriously, untied Storm’s rope and swung up onto his mount with a practiced leap, walking quickly past other whickering horses to the sunlit entrance to the stables. He and the horse walked out of the building – for the last time, Liam realized with a stab of hurt – and into the main grounds of the castle.

As soon as he was out of the building, Liam urged Storm into a trot, then a canter, and into a gallop. The wind blew pleasurably into his face, and he raced past his childhood home in a blur. He was running, running far away from fate and duty and kingdom. On the horse, maybe he could escape the marriage, the Dragon Clan, and those dark amber eyes that’d stolen his heart and turned it to putty.

For a few blissful minutes he and the horse flew in an undisturbed peace, with only the wind and their breathing to accompany them, but then the sound of thundering hoof steps broke through the fevered rush of running, and Liam turned his head as Harry Styles drew level with him, bent low across the back of a long-legged silver-white mare. Liam gave a twitch to the reins he held, and Storm immediately responded, slowing down to a comfortable walk, through his head tossed in eagerness to run again.

“Your horse runs well,” Harry commented, halting his own mount with an imperceptible squeeze of his legs. “Who’s his sire?”

“Our best stud, Noble,” Liam replied, and for a moment the two of them walked in tense, uneasy silence.

Harry nodded, his brows furrowed in thought. He raised a hand to push his dark curls up out of his eyes, and Liam caught sight of a series of ornate bracelets covering his bony wrist. A few small tattoos poked through as well. Liam subconsciously glanced down at his own wrists, wondering when ink would become part of him too.

“Are you happy?”

Harry’s voice was soft and low, the gravelly tones nearly blending in with the horses’ steps.

Liam looked over at the Dragon Clan noble in surprise. “Sorry?” he asked.

“You know what I mean,” Harry replied in annoyance, his emerald eyes glinting. “In less than two hours, you’re going to ride beside your husband who you’ve known for three days and leave the home you’ve always known.” His eyes ticked over to bore into Liam’s, and Liam groaned inwardly because he didn’t know what he’d do if all Dragon Clan people had eyes as disconcerting as this. “So I’m going to ask you again: are you happy?”

“No.” Liam surprised himself with his boldness. “No, I’m not.” He looked down at his hands, pulling at Storm’s thick mane.

“Do you love Zayn?”

Liam stared ahead, squinting into the sun and stalling for time. “I could,” he finally admitted. “It’s too soon.”

Harry hummed in agreement. “Louis and I were like this too, you know,” he told Liam. “He was all sparks and defiance, and we couldn’t be in the same room as each other without finding something to argue about. But we fell in love, bit by bit. You and Zayn will be the same.”

“I hope,” Liam murmured.

The other young man stopped his horse completely, and Liam did the same. “You will, for the sake of both of our kingdoms,” he told Liam, and this time it sounded more like a threat than anything.


	5. Chapter 5

Two large wagons full of cases, chests, and bags were being hooked up to two large cart horses when Liam approached the group of tribesmen preparing for departure from the palace, still atop Storm’s back. As he walked the horse slowly through the throng of mounting Dragon Clan tribesmen, he noticed the critical, appraising gazes as the professional horsemen looked him over. Trying to assert himself among the people he was now the leader of, Liam kept his eyes up and glanced around at them, tension growing in his shoulders. Catching the mercifully timed sight of Harry, Louis, Niall, Josh, and Zayn, he headed over to them, halting storm in front of the five.

“Took you long enough,” Louis commented with good humor lacing his voice, but his dark blue eyes still looked curious and concerned for his younger brother.

All of them, like him, had dressed in formal garb according to their loyalties, Niall and Josh bedecked in the elaborate red, white, and blue of England. The other three wore the fiery, bright tribal tunics of their status in the Dragon Clan. Liam, too, had been given a rich black, yellow, and scarlet tunic, and he was surprised by the cottony softness of the native-woven fabric.

Zayn’s honey-brown eyes flicked over him, a small smile on his pouty lips when he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw. “It fits you well,” he commented, sidling his horse up next to Liam’s. He placed a light kiss on Liam’s lips, leaning over in the saddle to reach him. When they broke apart, Zayn studied Liam’s face intently. “Are you okay…after last night?” he asked, referring to how Liam had left him at the end of their wedding feast.

Liam nodded slightly, face flushing in embarrassment. “I got overwhelmed by it all,” he admitted, mind still reeling from the sweet taste that Zayn’s lips left on his. “Forgive me.”

The older boy raised an eyebrow. “So formal,” he chuckled. “I’m your husband, not some prison warden.” He let his thumb trace across the back of Liam’s hand before he leaned back, still close but just because they were beside each other. “We can change into more comfortable clothes when we’re on the road,” he announced, in a louder voice to include the others.

A fanfare of trumpets broke the six from their thoughts, and Harry reined his mare into motion, Louis following on his chestnut stallion. “We need to get into formation for the ceremony,” he muttered to nobody in particular. He turned around and bellowed to the visiting delegation from the Clan, “Oi! Form up! Cepat!”

The men and women, all dressed in soft yellow robes, the women’s heads covered in formal wraps, quickly jostled their mounts into motion, arranging themselves in two straight columns. Harry and Louis took places at the heads of the lines, and Niall gave Liam’s shoulder one last squeeze – a final display of brotherhood – before heading away with Josh.

Zayn led Liam to stop his horse just in front of where Harry and Louis waited. Liam clenched the reins tightly and swiveled in the saddle, turning back to look at his new subjects, all assembled behind him. It was daunting to Liam, the way that the Clan was willing to follow any leader without question. That type of unwavering loyalty was unfamiliar to him.

A hand squeezed his briefly, and Liam turned back around to Zayn’s concerned eyes. “It’s time to go,” the tan boy murmured, sympathy evident in his face.

Liam looked down at Zayn’s hand in his, watching the bird on the back of his hand as Zayn let go and took up his reins, doing the same with his own. Another trumpet fanfare sang in his ears, and Liam urged Storm forward in a high-stepping walk, leaving the area just across from the palace and heading towards the massive wrought iron gates where a full royal guard stood at attention.

He could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on him as their procession came to the pathway formed between the two columns of royal soldiers. As he passed through the ranks, Liam noticed his childhood friends among the impassive faces, recognizing Andy and Maz. He attempted to swallow around the growing lump in his throat, reaching the two mounted kings just in front of the gates.

Niall’s eyes were cool, collected, everything that a king should be and everything that Liam was not. “Liam Payne and Zayn Malik of the Dragon Clan,” he began, “yesterday you joined our two nations for the third time in a generation. Now we bid you farewell to go on your way back to your homeland.”

“As a token of good faith, we offer these amulets of peace so that our communities may live on in harmony,” Josh said, and simultaneously the two monarchs presented Liam and Zayn with simple black boxes. Liam opened his, removing a dark silver pendant engraved with the family crest. He could see that there was a hinge on it, hinting at a small compartment inside, but decided that opening it could wait until later, instead resolving to just slip it over his head and under his shirt, where its cool metal clinked against the concentric circles that were Liam’s wedding gift from Zayn.

“Our thanks,” Zayn murmured, and Liam couldn’t deny the fact that the two words, spoken in that voice of velvet and silk, sent a shiver down his spine.

He nodded and looked at his younger brother, the only one of their family that would remain in their home. He already looked like a full-grown king, and Josh by his side looked just as regal, with that exotic beauty that seemed to be part of the genes of those of the Dragon Clan. “I can guarantee friendship between our two nations,” he added, and suddenly this brother of his was so far away, a king of a country that owed its children to Liam’s tribe.

And the real things in his life, just as quickly, were the scent of Zayn so close, the feel of worn leather reins in his hands, and that love for a people that he barely knew. One brother for another, one life for a new chance.

Niall’s blue eyes flickered in a momentary sadness, and he stepped his horse to the side, opening the pathway for the Dragon Clan. The gates opened, the horses started forward, and with a final stare into the eyes of the king of England, Liam left the only home he’d ever known.

* * *

It was seven hours into their journey when they stopped next to a patch of woods, the tribesmen quickly unloading tents and supplies and setting up a makeshift camp for the night. Zayn and Liam headed to the an area where several posts were staked into the hard earth, bringing their horses with them to tie them up for the night.

Liam quickly swapped Storm’s bridle for his halter and lead line, tying the line to the post so that his warhorse could graze through the night. He and Zayn stayed in a tense, uneasy silence for a few minutes, each of them engrossed in their work.

Liam froze for a moment when he could feel the weight of a stare pressing down on his back. He turned and saw Zayn with his hand tangled in his own horse’s mane, his brown eyes flickering over the length of Liam’s body.

“You’re beautiful,” Zayn said suddenly, meeting Liam’s eyes seriously. “You act like you have no idea, but you’re so perfect.”

“I…thank you.” Liam looked down at the ground shyly. “You’re…wonderful. Your eyes…I love your eyes.”

Zayn’s lips split into a brilliant smile for a brief moment, and he seemed to be pleased with Liam’s compliment.

Silence fell again, a small distance of a few yards separating them but they seemed worlds away from each other.

“What’s his name?” Zayn’s voice sounded strained, embarrassed from the awkwardness of the conversation, but he still seemed to be trying valiantly to focus on Liam’s horse.

Liam patted the horse’s muscular neck, grinning when he tossed his magnificent head. “Storm.”

Zayn’s hum of response was nearly lost to Liam’s ears. “In our language, we would call him Badai.”

“Badai.” Liam tested out the word on his lips, the first one to be learned. “And your horse?” He gestured to Zayn’s lithe palomino mount.

A fond smile crept its way onto Zayn’s pouty lips. “His name is Hantu, and I believe it means ‘ghost’ in your language,” he explained. “I’ve had him since I was very young.”

“You seem to be very good with him.”

Zayn smiled and rubbed the horse’s pale golden coat. “We’re like best friends.”

Liam checked the knot one more time on Storm’s halter and then rubbed the horse’s nose before walking over to Zayn. “Louis told me that we’d be having dinner soon,” he offered. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah, yeah, we should,” Zayn replied quietly, obviously relieved by the casual turn in conversation.

“Perhaps you could teach me some more of your language,” Liam suggested. “I’m going to need to learn eventually.”

Zayn’s arm wrapped itself around Liam’s shoulders, and he smiled once more as they headed back towards the main camp. “I’d like that a lot,” he told Liam. “See, the first thing you need to know is the word ‘food’. It’s pronounced makanan.”

* * *

Liam emerged from the woods, having relieved himself. He headed towards the firelight and blackened silhouettes that marked the location of the camp, but gasped out a breath when he was grabbed and roughly thrown up against a tree.

Bristly stubble and blunt teeth scratched at his neck, and hot breath whipped across Liam’s skin. An intoxicating smell of cinnamon and spice wreathed around them.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do this,” a fierce whisper hissed into his ear.

“Zayn,” Liam breathed, eyes slipping shut as Zayn’s teeth nipped at a spot just below his ear.

Zayn’s breath was hot and hurried against his skin, hands roaming and gripping Liam’s hips with bruising force, the tips of his fingers pressing into the skin there like clamps. “Your skin…it’s so flawless,” he hissed into Liam’s neck. “Except for this birthmark just here.” And his tongue laid kitten licks on the spot, tenderly and possessively. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Liam raised his hands – he’d forgotten he had them – and grabbed the sides of Zayn’s face, lifting Zayn’s lips from his neck and kissing the other boy. Zayn, this time, had lips that were quick and fierce and unforgiving, so unlike the chaste kisses of before. They wasted no time with subtleties; Liam wanted to taste every bit of Zayn.

“I want you,” Liam breathed, and the words surprised him because he’d never been this rash before, never been so open and passionate but with Zayn it seemed so right.

“My lord!”

Zayn growled low in his throat, annoyance evident in the way that his fingers squeezed Liam’s hips. He detached himself from Liam’s lips and turned around, facing some vague silhouette. “What is it, Perrie?” he asked, and his voice sounded so raspy and low and protective that Liam squirmed in his grasp.

“Harry is looking for you. He says he needs to discuss the new restocking of the weapons from the West.” The stranger’s voice was feminine, and Liam caught a glimpse of a pale, doll-like face and pale blonde hair to identify this Perrie by.

“I’ll be right there,” Zayn answered, sounding extremely pissed off. “Give me a moment.”

“Of course.” Perrie bowed and retreated towards the firelight.

Zayn turned back to Liam, hands raising to trace his kiss-swollen lips. “Later,” he promised. “We finish this when we get home.”

“Agreed,” Liam breathed, and then Zayn took him by the waist and led him back towards the village.

Liam knew that the others saw the blooming red bruise just beneath his ear, but he didn’t care.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for smut!...?

Liam groaned when the light from outside hit his face, throwing an arm over his eyes. “It’s cold,” he whined. “Niall, close the window.”

“Not Niall, babe.”

That was the voice of honey and silk, that voice that was just Zayn. Liam opened his eyes to see Zayn peering at him fondly from the opening to the tent that they shared. The chilly morning sun framed his lean figure, tinting the tanned skin of his chest a pale cream. Liam propped himself up on his elbows. “Morning,” he greeted the older boy with a grin.

Zayn’s dark eyes glittered as he stepped into the shelter of the tent, crouching down beside Liam. “You still think you’re back in England,” he informed Liam. The slightest hint of a frown pulled at his lips.

“It’ll take some getting used to,” Liam answered with a small shrug. “You’re here now, and I’m with you. That’s my life now.”

“And good thing, too.” Zayn stood and grabbed a worn-looking blue shirt from where it was hooked over one of the structural supports of the tent, pulling it over his head to cover the shining expanse of his chest. Liam would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed by that. “You need to get dressed too,” Zayn told him, watching with rapt attention as Liam stood up to be level with his eyes. “We’re packing up soon to ride the final distance home.”

Liam nodded and retrieved his own shirt in the small pile where he’d folded it next to his pillow, ignoring Zayn’s amused snort at his organization. He pulled it on over the black breeches he’d changed into after traveling for a little while the previous day, reveling in the fact that it still smelled like Zayn had when they’d met outside the woods.

The outside air was brisk when Liam walked into it, Zayn warm and strong by his side, no more than a foot away at all times. A few men and women greeted them as they passed on their way to where the horses had been put to pasture, and Zayn replied warmly to each and every one of them.

Liam wondered if he could ever be the same.

* * *

As the sun began to set yet again and Liam was beginning to wonder if they would have to stop for the night yet again, Zayn visibly perked, almost like the horses as he leaned forward, urging Hantu onwards towards a bend in the trail. Liam urged Storm forwards to keep up with his husband, and drew level with him. “Why so excited?” he asked, examining Zayn’s excited face.

The older boy turned to him and grinned. “We’re almost there,” he told Liam, and they rounded the trail, approaching a well-worn trail tramped down by hundreds of footprints. There Zayn halted and signaled for Liam to do the same, dismounting and handing the reins of his snorting palomino to a waiting man beside him. Liam slid from Storm’s back, and he hesitated for a moment before handing over the reins of his last personal remnant of home to the stranger. The man took the leather straps with a friendly smile, bowing slightly, and Liam grinned back out of instinct and pleased surprise.

“Come, come!” Zayn cried, and he pulled Liam by the hand and under an archway of branches, passing through shadows and brush and emerging on the other side.

And he was overwhelmed.

It was all wood and grass and fire, a bright place where curious children wearing silk and long robes rushed past his legs and watched him from the entrances of elaborately woven huts.

“What is this?” Liam asked in wonder, because even though this place was not made of stone or glass it was still the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.

Zayn’s eyes were alight with joy, a smile on his face when a gaggle of young children ran up to him and presented him with a horse carved with wax. He looked over at Liam with a smile on his face that Liam had never seen before.

“Liam,” he laughed, “this is home!”

The village was full of talking people, warriors doing washing with women while children climbed on their backs. It was activity that he’d never seen the likes of back in the palace, and Liam found himself strangely overjoyed with this way of life. It was so casual, so easygoing and friendly and he couldn’t get enough of it. “I love it,” he whispered quietly, an admission meant only for himself, but Zayn had heard and looked back at him with a surprised expression.

“I’m glad you do!” he exclaimed ecstatically, and he pulled Liam by the hand and through the huts.

A few men holding massive longbows crossed their path, quivers of arrows strung across their backs. Liam followed their movements warily, eying the weapons with caution. He didn’t appreciate how weapons like that were flaunted when there were children around.

Zayn’s hand squeezed his, a reminder that he was there and that there was nothing to fear if he stood in the path. They were leaders together now, no longer a pair of mismatched foreigners. Liam looked over at his warm eyes and smiled, ducking his head as apology for his distrust of the armed men.

“Zayn! Welcome home, sir!” one of the men boomed, and Zayn smiled and thanked him, insisting that it was good to be back. “Where are you headed?” the warrior asked.

“My mother’s,” Zayn answered, and with that the men all raised hands in farewell, the warriors nodding in respect to Liam, and they parted ways.

They stopped briefly in a secluded area between huts. Zayn pushed Liam gently up against one of the sturdy wooden walls, his hands clamped tight around Liam’s wrists. He pressed their lips together, and Liam squeezed his eyes shut, sighing when Zayn’s soft lips took control.

“You look so good in my clothing,” he whispered, kissing a hot line down the line of Liam’s jaw. “I can’t wait until later.”

“Neither can I,” Liam admitted, and it was with a satisfied smile that Zayn stopped in his efforts and let go of Liam’s wrists, instead taking his hand again.

“We’re almost there,” he informed him, and they exited the little corridor and weaved back through the main huts, heading down a side trail lined with the squat structures.

A soft-eyed woman wearing a pale gray tunic emerged from one of the larger huts, crying out and rushing into Zayn’s arms with a laugh. “Zayn!” she exclaimed, rubbing a hand through his hair. From the way that the older boy didn’t protest to the treatment, Liam assumed that this woman had to be his mother.

Zayn turned to Liam with a bright smile, his eyes smiling in a way that rivaled his white teeth. “Liam, this is my mother, Tricia,” he introduced them, and Liam bowed low to the older woman, taking her hand and kissing it.

“A pleasure,” he told her.

Tricia looked surprised, glancing in disbelief from Zayn to Liam and back. “So formal, this English man!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Zayn, you’ve got your hands full with this one!” She turned back to Liam, smiling brightly. “Liam, my dear, in the Clan we don’t use these formalities. You’re the husband of my only son; come here and give me a hug!” Without waiting for a response from Liam, she wrapped him in a tight embrace.

Over Tricia’s shoulder, Liam looked helplessly at Zayn. The older boy’s lips were curved into an amused smirk. His mouth formed the command that he probably should obey.

Hug her back.

Liam raised his own arms and wrapped them around the torso of this woman that he’d just met, surprised by the friendliness and open hearts of the Dragon Clan. It felt good, to be able to hold someone and be held, to be in such a familiar place that felt more like home than England ever did.

Tricia patted his back one more time before breaking the hug and holding him at arm’s length by his forearms. “You’re a handsome one, Liam,” she observed with a smile. “My Zayn is a lucky boy to get a catch like you.”

Liam ducked his head in embarrassment. “Thank you, Mrs. Malik.”

“Tricia,” the woman corrected, and she let go of him. “You two can head over and settle Liam into your little hut. It’s getting late.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ma- Tricia,” Liam caught himself.

“Good boy.” She smiled and shooed them away. “Go on, you two! We can catch up later; for now, you two obviously need some time alone!”

Zayn laughed and took Liam by the waist, leading him away from the hut with a “Bye, Mum,” as farewell. “Come on, I’ll show you our home,” he whispered into Liam’s hair, burying his nose into it.

They left the main area of the huts, headed down a sparsely populated trail lined with brightly burning torches that lit the path in the nearly-gone sunlight. The shadows were thrown perfectly across the planes of Zayn’s face, bright skin giving way to dark in angles and curves that were perplexing and only made Liam want to sit Zayn down so he could study those dancing shadows forever.

“Here we are,” Zayn murmured, and then there it was, a large, dark structure with a thatched roof and awning over the door. It was clearly made to be defended, but at the same time it looked so endearingly cozy and so much like the shy, eager-to-please Zayn that Liam had glimpsed once or twice since knowing the older boy. The door was carved with glyphs in Terkutuk, and Liam contemplated asking Zayn about it but decided not to spoil the calm peacefulness that was here.

He leaned into Zayn as they walked towards it, breathing in the scent of the outdoors and of Zayn, a combination he’d not like to be rid of.

“So this is our home,” Zayn announced with a shuffle of his feet, pulling the thick wooden door open.

Liam walked in, his mouth open in awe. The hut was small, but it still was luxuriously adorned, with furs carpeting the plank floor and even covering the windows as curtains. Silk blankets were spread with pillows on top of the pelt-laden floor, which seemed to be just one large mattress.

“Home huts like these only serve the purpose of sleeping. Social meetings and meals are held in the community huts,” Zayn explained, coming up behind him. The door shut behind him, and suddenly the two of them were in silence, only the filtered firelight streaming in through the curtains illuminating the room.

“It’s quiet,” Liam whispered.

Soft lips met the junction between his shoulder and neck, just caressing the skin there. “It is.” Zayn’s hands found Liam’s hips again, a place that he never seemed to stray from. Liam shivered and leaned into the older boy’s touch. His eyes slipped shut when Zayn blew warm air over the bruise he’d given Liam the previous night.

He turned around, smiling when Zayn adjusted his hands just to keep contact with his waist, possessive and firm in his hold. Liam leaned forward until their lips were just inches apart. “How far are we from the others?”

Zayn’s eyes crinkled into a grin. “Far enough,” he replied, his voice so low it was almost a growl.

“Good.” Liam moved his head forward and connected their lips, and Zayn allowed them to just kiss for a moment before he pressed his tongue to the junction of Liam’s lips, more of a command than a request, and Liam opened his mouth gladly to him.

Their lips slotted together so nicely, all lips and tongue and teeth, and Liam stopped remembering how to stand because everything in this dark hut was so overwhelmingly Zayn, smelled like him, felt like him, tasted like him. Zayn guided him down to the padded floor with lips and hands, pressing Liam down until he was on his back, nestled in the smooth furs there. The older boy went down with him, his hands moving up and under Liam’s shirt, hands splaying warm and large over the shivering skin of Liam’s chest. His legs were bent at the knee, his bottom resting just on top of where Liam needed him, his back arched as he hovered over Liam, a bird and a cat ready to pounce.

“Beautiful,” he growled, teeth flashing white and predatory as he bit fiercely at Liam’s lower lip, tugging at it until he elicited a whine from deep down in Liam’s throat. “You’re mine, all mine.”

And Liam wanted to scream how much he wanted this man, how much he wanted to take him and kiss him and let him do what he wanted with him but all he could manage were these small gasps of air, little encouragements for the wandering fingers and glinting amber eyes. He watched while Zayn pulled gently away from his lip, tugging just a bit before letting it fall from his teeth, reconnecting their lips with renewed vigor. Those hands, with nails that dragged at his skin and thumbed briefly at his nipples, tugged impatiently at the hem of Liam’s tunic, dragging it up and towards his neck, but moved no further, lips still firmly attached to Liam’s. Liam huffed out a groan of annoyance, willingly breaking the kiss so that Zayn could bring the garment up over his head and away.

He waited for Zayn to come crashing back down, but was surprised when his lips were left unattended and for a moment the two of them sat in relative silence, chests heaving as they both took in the air that they’d been neglecting to breathe. Zayn’s eyes, so dark already that the gorgeous amber of them was nearly swallowed whole, were fixated on Liam’s now-bare chest. Liam squirmed under the scrutiny, suddenly shy, because how could he compare to this man that he was married to, this foreign ruler that was flames and fire and everything that Liam could never be? “Zayn,” he murmured, tugging at the other boy’s arm.

“You’re perfect,” Zayn whispered, almost a snarl from the passion and want that bled from the words. “Your chest, your skin, your everything.” And then he pulled at the fabric of his own tunic, bringing it up and over his head in a single fluid motion, baring the ink-covered skin for Liam’s own roving eyes.

Lips met again in a fevered rush, shoes were kicked off with haste and annoyance, and wandering hands found the waistlines of breeches, tugging with whispers of let me and you’re perfect to accompany the garments to wherever they’d gone.

Liam was hard for Zayn when the older boy’s hand found him, teasing at him with both curiosity and lust. “Please,” he begged, because if there was one thing he needed right then, it was Zayn, and he was so attainably close but hovering just out of reach. He tangled his fingers in the furs around him, throwing his head to the side because that was all he could do.

“Spread your legs.” Not a request, not an invitation. It was a command. Dirty, low, and spoken with perfect certainty.

Liam couldn’t have done it quicker, and Zayn’s lips, bitten raw so that they were sinfully red, quirked up into a smile. A shark’s smile, predatory and pleased.

Still with one hand stroking achingly slowly over Liam’s cock, Zayn pushed his fingers at the crease of Liam’s lips. “Suck,” he ordered, and Liam opened his mouth for the hand he was given. He watched Zayn’s eyes while he did it, experimentally swirling his tongue over the digits to see the older boy’s reaction, humming happily when Zayn groaned at the sensation.

Fingers were replaced with lips and Liam arched up into Zayn’s mouth and hand, begging for more and waiting to get it. “Zayn,” he gasped when they parted for air.

“Shhh,” Zayn shushed him, once again capturing his mouth and pushing his tongue into Liam’s mouth, exploring the roof of his mouth, tracing the lines of his teeth, and welcoming Liam’s gladly into his own. He continued to pump his hand up and down Liam’s cock, and Liam groaned into Zayn’s mouth, a slight gasp escaping him when he felt Zayn’s fingers prodding at his entrance.

He hissed, muscles stiffening at the pain of the foreign intrusion. Zayn distracted him with a long kiss on the lips, slow and searing and staving off the discomfort. “Breathe,” he growled against Liam’s lips, another finger being added with painstaking slowness. The digits scissored inside Liam, stretching him more with increasing speed and ease.

Liam moaned as, slowly, the pain turned more to pleasure, and he began to push his hips back onto Zayn’s fingers. His hands scrabbled at the silk and furs below him, and he groaned against Zayn’s lips. “Please, just do it,” he begged, and his voice came out strangled and wrecked-sounding.

The final sliver of amber of Zayn’s eyes disappeared in black, and the older boy growled low in his throat, quickly yanking his fingers from inside of Liam in such a way that Liam could hear the obscene slick sound that the removal made. Zayn grabbed Liam’s thighs in a bruising grip, lifting them up and hooking Liam’s legs around his waist. Liam raised his head a bit, chest still heaving, watching Zayn intently through the haze of want, need, please.

Zayn’s own cock was hard, a bit of precome dribbling down the shaft, and Liam bit his lip as the raven-haired boy began to push in, quite a bit larger than what his fingers had prepared him for.

“Fuck,” Zayn hissed, finally burying himself in Liam. “Fuck, this is exactly what I hoped – Jesus, Liam.” He began to move, abandoning Liam’s cock to brace himself on Liam’s hips, holding him down while he pulled out and swiftly plunged in again, a motion that had Liam groaning and trying to push back into, stopped by Zayn’s firm grip.

“Zayn,” he protested weakly, but Zayn fixed him with a dark glare, hair plastered to his forehead with a sheen of sweat, and he stayed silent.

Zayn’s hips moved back and then snapped forward again with force, building up a rhythm that knocked the air from Liam’s lungs. Liam abandoned any efforts to stay quiet and keened out Zayn’s name, the word stuttering from his throat when Zayn pounded into him.

The older boy bent low over him, hips still driving his cock deeper into Liam but his stubble scratching at the edge of Liam’s ear. “I want you to scream for me,” he growled, and Liam felt his cock throb from the words. “I want you to scream my name while I fuck you; I want to see you come untouched.”

He stopped for a moment and hovered over Liam, the predator holding all the power over him, dick rock hard in his ass, just waiting. He drew back, only the tip of him still penetrating Liam. “Do you want me to move?” he asked teasingly.

Liam ground his hips down towards Zayn, desperate for the friction that he needed. “Fucking move!” he yelled, and Zayn obliged, thrusting back in with a force yet unseen, eliciting a ragged scream from Liam’s throat.

Zayn’s thrusts continued in quick succession, the force behind them growing. Liam cried out when finally, mercifully, the head of Zayn’s cock struck that spot deep inside him. “Zayn!” he screamed, back arching of its own will, the pleasure of it overwhelming. It was all so much, too much. Zayn’s head dipped low, white teeth flashing as he bit viciously at Liam’s collarbone, sucking at the spot there without mercy, savage and possessive. “Jesus, fuck!”

Another raw scream ripped out of his throat, a garbled version of his husband’s name, chanting over and over until it became too much and Liam came violently, screwing his eyes shut with a moan of pleasure and covering his own stomach with his seed.

Above him, Zayn groaned, curses spilling from his lips as he continued to pound into Liam’s body, thrusts becoming erratic as he came close to his own climax. As Liam came, muscles spasming in the rush of it, the pressure on Zayn’s cock grew and the older boy threw his head back, the veins in his neck standing out in stark relief, taut as bowstrings, and came inside of him with a scream of “Liam, Liam, fuck, Liam!”

He collapsed next to Liam with a groan, pulling out in the process. Liam winced at the feeling of come slowly oozing out of him, but he was too tired to care enough to clean up. Zayn’s head nestled itself in between his head and shoulder, a hand splaying out across his chest protectively. His lips lazily worked at the skin of Liam’s neck, caressing it quietly. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come,” he whispered.

Liam turned his head, looking over at the heavy-lidded figure beside him. “I love the way you love me,” he replied, pressing a languid kiss to the already swollen lips of his partner.

Zayn smiled, eyes slipping shut. His arms wrapped around Liam, netting him in a warm embrace. “Sleep,” he murmured, the word slurred as it pulled sleepily from his lips.

He nestled into the warmth that was Zayn, disregarding the stickiness of sweat and come on both of them, and closed his eyes, finding himself asleep in moments, slipping into the darkness of bliss.


	7. Chapter 7

“It’s morning, Liam. Get up.”

Liam opened one eye with a furrowed brow, squinting around the fur-lined hut. Zayn was sprawled out beside him on the floor, a red silk blanket draped around his hips. Following the [line](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/41415003538/show-me-how-to-live) of the sheer fabric, Liam found that the silk was covering him as well.

“You were looking cold,” Zayn explained, looking slightly shy about it. How different from the man of last night this boy was, Liam thought.

“Watching me in my sleep?” Liam asked teasingly, a small grin on his face. He propped himself up on his elbows.

Zayn’s lips split into a roguish smile, and he cupped a hand around the back of Liam’s neck. “Come here, you,” he murmured playfully, pulling Liam over on top of him. He kissed Liam, long and sweet and searing, lips moving deliciously against his in lazy movements. Zayn’s hands pulled more at Liam’s waist, dragging him up and on top of Zayn’s body, legs straddling his waist.

Leaning forward again to nuzzle at the fringe of Zayn’s black hair, Liam winced as a twinge of pain ran through him, and Zayn halted in his rough handling of Liam’s thighs. “You’re sore,” he murmured, thumbs stroking soothing circles into Liam’s bare thighs. “I hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” Liam dismissed, and he scraped teeth across Zayn’s earlobe gently, distracting the other boy from his concerns. “You know, back in England, if a man makes his partner visibly sore, then he’s automatically respected because he’s good in bed.”

Zayn smirked, eyes slitting shut under Liam’s ministrations. “You’re making that up,” he accused.

“No lie,” Liam swore, and he couldn’t believe in that moment that he’d only known this boy for a few days when it seemed like they’d been together for years. Such familiarity between them, but it was so fresh. “Do you have clothes for us?” he asked, carding fingers through Zayn’s thick, dark hair.

The other boy nodded, but when Liam began to clamber off of his lap, the dark-haired boy whined in protest. “We can stay for a little while more.

Liam shook his head with a fond grin, moving away anyway. “We could, but you’ve already woken me and it’s my job to keep you in line, isn’t it?” He moved away, squinting around in the dim sunlight that streamed through the fur curtains. He [picked](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/41415003538/show-me-how-to-live) up the soft, Clan-woven material of a gray shirt, but paused and looked back at Zayn. “Can I clean off somehow?” The backs of his legs and his stomach were still streaked with his and Zayn’s come from the previous night.

His husband’s complaining eyes turned soft, and he held up a finger, signaling that Liam should wait. He crawled over to the door, obviously too tired or too lazy to stand and walk. The door pushed open, and Zayn reached outside, gingerly retrieving a ceramic pot and some soft-looking rags from just outside the door. “Every day, I have hot water brought here for washing,” he explained. Liam could smell a faint odor of lavender curling from the pot.

“Good thing you do or you’d smell like a goat.” Liam spoke with a joking manner, but he still offered Zayn a long kiss in thanks. When he drew away, he grinned. “Yeah, you definitely need a wash.”

Zayn pushed Liam’s shoulder. “Shut up,” he grumbled. But he took one of the soft cloths and dipped it in the fragrant water, wringing out the excess liquid to daub it on his tanned chest.

Liam followed suit, rubbing at the semen left on his chest, grimacing at the feeling of it being taken from his skin. “This is disgusting,” he muttered. “I should’ve cleaned up earlier.”

“Let me help.” And then Zayn leaned over, the yin-yang amulet around his neck dangling in the air between them, and rubbed gently at Liam’s skin. “You’re still beautiful,” he chided.

“You’re just trying to get a kiss,” Liam snorted, but when Zayn had finished his careful ministrations, he leaned over and pecked the older boy on the lips. His hand raised to trace the ink that covered Zayn’s chest, reveling in the slightly raised feeling of the inked skin and the feel of Zayn’s forehead on his as they knelt there, just hanging in that space between together and one. “When will I have to get one of these?”

Zayn’s smooth hands and calloused fingertips trace Liam’s chest, still wet from the cloth. His hands found Liam’s necklace, the circles hanging perfectly at his sternum. “Soon. Maybe a few days,” he replied absently, transfixed as he rubbed the rings with his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t rush.”

Liam sighed, closing his eyes before he fixed Zayn with one last kiss before he reluctantly broke away from the lavender-scented beauty that was his husband. “Rushing is habitual where I come from.”

“You’re not there anymore, are you?” Zayn asked, cat’s eyes watching Liam as he pulled the soft gray shirt over his head. “Be like us.”

“It’s going to take more than a decision to change me,” Liam countered, pulling on a pair of undergarments before slipping breeches over his legs, Zayn mirroring him with clothing of his own.

Zayn reached out a hand and touched his cheek. “I have time,” he whispered, smiling before drawing away to pull on his boots. The shoes had been hastily kicked to the wall of the hut in the heat of the moment the past night. He pulled on his black boots, tugging them over the cuffs of the black breeches he wore. The blue in his shirt was striking against the tan of his skin, stretched taut across the muscles in his back. Liam couldn’t help but admire the man that he was lucky enough to be with.

“What are we doing today?” he asked, reaching over Zayn to pluck his own boots from the furs.

Zayn shrugged, his eyes on his boot buckles in concentration. “Nothing, really. I’ll have to introduce you to some people at breakfast and throughout the day. There’s probably going to be a massive celebration to celebrate your arrival.”

“You people don’t hesitate to pull out all the stops, do you?” Liam asked in wonder.

“We’re friendly.”

An understatement, Liam thought as he walked through the Dragon Clan village. The inhabitants were all surging towards the center of the village, but despite the apparent single-mindedness, there was chatter and laughing. Greetings were called out, some directed towards Liam, words in Terkutuk mixed in with his name.

A few young men who seemed to be a bit older than them approached, nodding in deference to Liam and Zayn’s status. “Congratulations!” one exclaimed happily, fingers scratching at a dark tattoo behind his ear.

“Thanks, Jaymi,” Zayn replied warmly. He turned to Liam, gesturing towards the four men. “Liam, these are some of my closest friends and advisors under Harry. Here’s Jaymi and Josh and JJ and George.” The dark-haired Jaymi, the one with the tattoo, smiled in acknowledgement, and George offered a beaming grin. “And you four already know who Liam is.”

“Of course!” George chirped. “Well, we’d best be off before breakfast gets cold…” he trailed off, eying the large building a few rows of huts over, the roof just visible over the tops of the other homes.

“So should we, in fact,” Zayn agreed, tugging at Liam’s hand so that they could keep up with the four others. “Come on, Li.”

The nickname didn’t go unnoticed. Liam smiled, his heart warming and a blush rising in his cheeks. He trotted along behind Zayn happily, still looking around in awe at the village, this time in full daylight.

The large central hut loomed into view, all thatched roof and stacked wood. The tantalizing smell of fresh-cooked meat wafted from the doorway and the pungent smoke that rose in lazy trails from the roof. It was all so different, so casual, so perfect.

Zayn led Liam into the building, hand still protectively around Liam’s. They met Louis at the entrance, greeting him as they entered.

Louis looked the two of them over with a critical eye, raising a delicately arched eyebrow when they stopped in front of him. “You had sex last night, didn’t you?” he asked, skipping any sort of greeting and jumping straight into the conversation.

“Jesus, Louis, be a little more blunt with it,” Liam muttered, feeling his face flush in embarrassment.

Louis shrugged, patting Liam on the back as Harry came up behind him. “Glad you like it here, brother,” he told Liam, nodding and walking off.

“Li, come on, you need to meet my family!” Zayn exclaimed.

It struck Liam at that moment, the fact that he was married to Zayn but had never once met any of his family, save for his mother. He followed Zayn dumbly, looking around at the unfamiliar faces of the Dragon Clan. Perrie, the blonde from the other night, passed by him with a ceramic plate and smiled in greeting. Grateful for the familiarity, Liam grinned back at her and carried on, taking note as she went and sat with three other girls who waved happily at him.

“Liam,” Zayn spoke with a hint of humor, jerking Liam from his thoughts. Liam looked back over to where Zayn’s voice had come from and saw him standing by a group of five other people who were sitting at a table slightly raised from the others. Liam quickly ascended the two small steps to reach his husband and smiled shyly in greeting to the others.

“Hello,” he greeted them quietly.

Tricia smiled in welcome. “Liam, dear!” she called. “You’re looking as polite and English as always.”

Liam shrugged under the weight of the joke. “Good to see you again, Tricia.”

“Liam, these are my sisters, Doniya–” Zayn put a hand on the shoulder of a young woman who seemed to be a few years older than him– “Waliyha, and Safaa.” Two younger girls smiled and waved with curious smiles. “And this is my father, Yaser. He was the leader of the Clan until I turned eighteen.”

Liam dipped his head in greeting to the older man, of whom Zayn was the spitting image. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” he told them.

“And you as well, Liam,” Yaser replied with a warm smile. “I trust you’ll like it here.”

“I already do,” Liam replied, happy when he saw the approval in Yaser’s firm gaze.

“I’ll leave you to talk to Safaa. She’s sweet; just don’t overdo it. She’s smarter than her age.” Zayn pressed a kiss to the spot just behind Liam’s ear and headed a few seats over, crouching beside his father’s chair and speaking urgently to him.

Liam watched him for a moment before turning back to Zayn’s youngest sister. She had the same raven-dark hair as Zayn did, and her eyes had that guarded look to them that seemed to run in the family.

“Hello, Safaa,” Liam said politely, seeing how guarded the young girl was.

She watched him with cautious blue-gray eyes, stunning in their difference from her brothers’ own. “Liam,” she murmured as greeting.

Liam searched his brain for something to say to his sister-in-law. “Zayn told me that you could help me out with my Terkutuk. He said you’re the smartest of his sisters. Is that true?”

Safaa’s mouth quirked into a shy grin. “That’s true, I suppose,” she said, English surprisingly good for a person growing up in the Clan. She turned in her seat and looked straight at him. “What do you want to know?”

Liam held up the wrought iron fork that was at the nearest place setting. “Fork?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Too easy. That’s  _garpu_.”

“I’ll try to challenge you next time.” Liam grinned. “You help me with my Terkutuk and I’ll help you with English. Sound like a plan?”

She tilted her head in an innocent gesture of trust. “I like you, Liam. Yeah, it’s a plan.” Her lips twisted into a roguish grin, so much like her older brother that it was uncanny. She leaned in, lips near Liam’s ear. “Do you want to know how to say something very special?” she asked.

Liam smiled. “What is it?” he breathed back.

Safaa whispered quickly in his ear, the words securing and holding in place in his mind. She drew back afterwards. “For when it’s time to use it,” she told him. “Until then, keep it in your heart. Safe.”

“Thank you, Safaa,” Liam said sincerely, and he wished he could say more, but then Zayn came up behind him, hands on his shoulders.

“I want to show you my favorite place after breakfast,” he murmured in Liam’s ear, stubble brushing Liam’s cheek.

“I can’t wait,” Liam replied, eyes slipping shut when Zayn nuzzled his neck.

 _Aku mencintaimu, Zayn_.

*          *          *

Liam sighed and leaned back across Zayn’s chest, his own stomach filled and satisfied. “I think I love it here,” he murmured, partly to Zayn but mostly to himself.

Long fingers carded through his hair, and a content hum rumbled through Zayn’s chest. “That’s good, seeing as you’re stuck here for the rest of your life,” he replied with a chuckle.

Liam swatted Zayn’s stomach. “You ruined the moment,” he grumbled, but his mock-anger disappeared when Zayn wrapped him in a bear hug, holding him close. “Stop making me love you,” he muttered into Zayn’s neck. “It hurts.”

“If it hurts, it’s real,” Zayn reminded him quietly.

The air fell silent, only the hum of insects and the whoosh of the wind to accompany them. Liam smiled into the peace of it all, inhaling the warmth that was Zayn.

A branch snapped. A bird shot into the sky, screaming a warning.

Zayn flinched; looked around, but Liam tugged him back down. “It’s just an animal, Zayn. Relax.”

Zayn shook his head. “I’m a hunter. I know animals.” He sat up, eyes alert. “And that was no animal I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s probably nothing,” Liam assured him, because Zayn had never been like this. He didn’t seem to be the paranoid type.

A low growl rasped through the trees, punctuated by the harsh staccato of a laugh.

Zayn’s head snapped up, eyes flicking around wildly, and he sprang into a crouch, bent low next to Liam. His hand moved to his boot, and Liam saw that there was a small dagger sheathed there, Zayn’s fingers dancing over the hilt. “Liam, I need you to get very low and not make a sound. If I tell you to run, promise me that you will.”

“Zayn,” Liam protested.

“Promise me.” His eyes were not joking. There was that guarded aggression like back when Liam had first met him, a readiness like a predator and it scared Liam more than a little bit.

“Okay,” Liam whispered, and he slowly, carefully, spread himself onto the ground among the tall blades of grass. “Zayn, what’s happening?”

“Be calm,” Zayn hissed quietly, and he was on alert, adjusting his hold on the blade he held in his hand.

“What’s happening?” Liam repeated, his breath stirring the grass.

Zayn’s free hand trailed across Liam’s back, knuckles pressing protectively; fearfully. “They know about us,” he whispered, and there was tension and fear there.

“Who does, Zayn?” Liam asked, not daring to move anything but his lips.

His eyes were pained. “The Northern Tribe. They know that I’m recently married.”

“They want me,” Liam gasped, the revelation hitting him hard. “I’m putting you in danger by being here.”

“No, Liam, it’s fine; we’ve faced worse than this–”

A single spear whistled through the air and past Zayn’s head, the deadly sharp point ruffling Zayn’s hair with the wind.

“Liam, down, down, down!” Zayn screamed, and then he was up, rushing forwards as a horde of five burly men burst from the trees. One drew his arm back and hurtled another spear towards Zayn, but Zayn twisted and avoided the projectile that would’ve impaled him. “Fuckers!” he spat, and he tightened his grip on the dagger. “Why didn’t I bring a bigger knife, a sword, anything?” His voice hitched towards the end, turning terrified, and Liam realized that Zayn was just barely twenty, just weaned off of childhood, only a boy and he was about to face those barbarians alone.

One of them reached Zayn first, meaty hands void of a spear, and he swung a knife of his own, this one with a bone handle. Knowing the Northern Tribe, it was probably used to gut fish. He lunged –

_move zayn move_

– and Zayn hissed through his teeth as he danced aside too slow, neck and shoulders twisting away but the skin on his collarbone was caught nonetheless. It hitched, split, the blood dripping onto his blue shirt and turning it purple-brown.

Zayn feigned a stab with his dagger, and when the slower bandit moved to block him, Zayn brought the hilt of his knife down and knocked the hunter’s knife down.

The man growled and threw a fist out, his knuckles catching Zayn in the jaw. The boy jerked sideways, blood dribbling from his mouth, but he still twirled his dagger and advanced again.

That’s when Liam saw the two other men behind Zayn.

“Zayn, behind you!” he screamed, and Zayn whirled to face them, out of instinct rather than response. But his attention was divided and the first man struck a glancing blow to the side of Zayn’s head with the hilt of his sword, knocking the boy to the ground.

“No!” Liam screamed, and clapped a hand over his mouth

The two other men looked in Liam’s direction, yelling to the leader before grinning and heading towards Liam, ropes held firm in their meaty fists.

They’d found him. Abandoning all pretenses of discreetness, Liam scrambled up and turned tail, running back the way he could’ve sworn they came. He had to get back to the village, had to warn Harry and Louis and get help because who were these men that had attacked his Zayn?

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, and Liam screamed before he realized that he’d been caught, the sound already ripping from his throat by the time that a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards.

“No!” he shrieked, kicking backwards at the body that was enveloping him, smelling of horses and sweat and smoke. “Let me go!”

“Come now, little prince,” a gravelly voice growled into his ear. “We don’t want any trouble.” He picked Liam up, ignoring Liam’s screams, and began carrying him back towards the woods, quickly as a sense of urgency seemed to be instilled in the barbarians.

Liam tried to kick outwards at the others, feeling a thrill of victory when he hit the nose of the man walking beside him, feeling the crack as well as hearing it. The injured man let out a bellow of pain and the man holding Liam responded by pressing a thumb against Liam’s windpipe.

“One more bit of funny business like that,” he hissed, breath smelling of stale meat and ale, “and I’ll make sure this pretty throat of yours is slit end to end. Then we’ll see how you like it.”

Liam wheezed, trying to get air past the painful compression on his throat. The man released him, laughing. They’d reached the edge of the forest, where two other men were waiting with large pack horses. Liam tried to struggle out of his captor’s grip, but his wrists were caught fast and tied with twine behind his back. The rough cord chafed at his skin.

The burly man lifted him and held him like a child while another man tied his ankles tight, effectively hobbling him. Then they lifted him over the saddle of one of the horses, laying him flat in front of one of the seated horsemen.

“Liam!”

His eyes darted towards the field, heart screaming when he saw Zayn, dazed and bloodstained, stumbling towards them. Blood dripped from the wound on the side of his head, a bruise already blooming across the skin, vivid even from the distance.

“Zayn!” he cried back, flinching when the man he was riding in front of hit him fiercely across the face.

Zayn picked up a discarded spear and began to stagger towards where they were, eyes wide in terror. “Liam!” he screamed, voice cracking in fear. “Liam, no!”

Liam sobbed out one last “Zayn!” before a rag smelling of bitter herbs was pressed to his nose and mouth, forcing him to inhale the caustic fumes it held.

“LIAM!” Zayn screamed, and Liam opened heavily lidded eyes to see Zayn on his knees in the field, a new gash across his stomach from a spear. The young man fell, sobs wracking his body.

 _Zayn_! Liam called, and the world faded.

_Zayn, help!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nightmare unfolds for Liam and Zayn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned that this chapter has graphic depictions of non-con. Please be wary of this.

Zayn hissed into the rag that was clenched between his teeth, pain stinging in his side. Perrie gently swatted him over the head, delicate [eyebrows](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/43124039094/show-me-how-to-live) furrowed in concentration. “Stop squirming, Zayn, and it won’t hurt.” Her fingers resumed their careful work in putting stitches into the gash on Zayn’s side.

He spit out the rag, breath slightly ragged as he glared at her. “Maybe I want it to hurt,” he spat.

Perrie shook her head at him. “No, Zayn, you don’t. You don’t mean that.”

“I do, Perrie.” Zayn screwed his eyes shut as the needle pierced his skin [again](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/43124039094/show-me-how-to-live), tugging thread through carefully. But the darkness that his lids provided did nothing to stop the new images, from a reality just hours ago.

_“Zayn!” Liam screamed, tied and bound and going away, away._

“I let him go.” Zayn winced when a knot was tied at the end of the wound, sealing the stitches shut. “I just let him get taken.”

She gave him a firm glare, “Stop blaming yourself. You can’t have any hope of ever getting Liam back if you have an attitude like that.” She took a knife and cut the remaining thread, pulling Zayn’s shirt down over the wound.

“You need time,” Perrie told him. “Talk to your father; he can help. He can help you get Liam back. The Tribe can’t be far. You’ll find him, Zayn. But for now you need to heal. You’re no use to Liam if you’re injured.”

Zayn stared at her for a solid two minutes and, to her credit, Perrie didn’t bat an eye, returning the gaze with equal resolve. She jerked her chin towards the entrance to the hut. “Go and make the announcement. You’re the leader, Zayn. Start acting like it.”

“You’re the worst person ever,” Zayn growled at her, standing up carefully and limping slightly towards the door, favoring the injured side of his body. “You know that, right?”

Perrie shrugged. “It’s why we’re friends, isn’t it though?” And Zayn knew she was right. He didn’t think he could ever live without Perrie’s silly sarcasm and wit. She was one of the few people that could ever put up with Zayn’s mood swings.

“Thank you, Perrie,” Zayn told her, for once sincere to his childhood friend. She nodded encouragingly, pale eyes gleaming with sympathy, and Zayn pushed aside the flap that led to the entrance of the tent, entering the village.

All around, Clan members turned to look at him when he emerged, halting in their conversations and watching him. The hush in the village was unnatural.

“We will have a meeting in the meal hut,” he announced. “I will see you shortly.” He stood there, watching the Clan members frozen in place, seemingly unable to move. “What are you waiting for?” he snapped. “Get going!”

The people nodded, and he saw fear and worry gleaming in their eyes. He’d scared them off. Zayn sighed, feeling yet another part of him wilt. He was even letting down his own tribespeople now.

 “Something you’d like to share?”

Zayn closed his eyes tight. Louis. He couldn’t face his friend, not now. “Louis, you’ll learn at the meeting. Can you please just–”

Louis grabbed Zayn’s shoulder and pulled him around, making Zayn wince at the pain that it sparked in his side. “Where’s my brother, Zayn?” he asked dangerously, dark blue eyes stormy and touched with fear. “Where’s Liam?”

“Louis, can’t this wait?” Zayn begged, trying to shrug out of Louis’s grasp but finding himself blocked by the wall that was Harry. “Louis, please, don’t do this right now-“

Louis came up in his face. “Dammit, Zayn, you are going to sit down and explain why you have a gash in your side and why my baby brother didn’t come home with you, or so help me, I will make sure that that isn’t the only wound you have.”

Zayn looked helplessly from Harry to Louis and back, trying to fight the now ever-present lump in his throat. When it was obvious that they wouldn’t yield, Zayn looked down at his feet. “The Northern Tribe,” he muttered.

“The Northern Tribe what?” Harry challenged.

“They attacked, they ambushed, and I tried to protect him, I did, but I only had a knife-“

Louis stopped him, voice sounding hollow. “You mean the Northern Tribe…got Liam?”

“Yes,” Zayn whispered. “They took him.”

Those blue eyes turned glassy, blanking with shock before tears threatened to spill over his lids and did, wetting Louis’s fine eyelashes and turning his face into a mask of despair. He stood back from Zayn, pressing backwards into Harry’s waiting warmth. “Liam,” he whispered. “My Li.”

Harry bowed his head, nesting it into the crook of Louis’s neck. His green eyes rose to meet Zayn’s. “How long do you think they’ll keep him alive?” he asked, and already Zayn could hear the grief in Harry’s voice for the boy he’d barely known.

“Hopefully long enough for us to get to him,” Zayn replied, but inside he was empty.

Harry shook his head, one of his hands carding through Louis’s thick hair. “Do you really believe as much?” he asked, doubtful but with sorrow in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Zayn, but I give him a week at most.”

Louis sniffed at that and let out a peculiar choking sound. “Why would you even talk like that?” he whispered, voice oddly choked.

Zayn began to reach out a hand towards Louis, aching to comfort his friend and apologize a million times over, but retracted it. He had no right to comfort Louis; he’d just been responsible for his brother’s kidnapping. “I need to go,” he croaked, his voice scratching on his dry throat. “Louis…I’m so sorry.”

Louis fixed him with tearful blue eyes. “It’s not your fault, Zayn,” he mumbled. “You weren’t prepared to get attacked like that.”

“If I wasn’t such a rubbish leader, I’d have stopped them,” Zayn spat bitterly.

Louis’s eyebrows creased into furrowed peaks on his forehead. “Doesn’t matter what you could’ve done,” he told Zayn, a tremor still in his voice. “Liam’s still gone, and no amount of ‘what ifs’ will change that.” He sighed shakily, wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks and leaning into Harry’s tight embrace. “We need to go to the meeting, Zayn. They deserve to know what happened.”

Zayn sighed dejectedly. “Come with me?”

Harry wrapped an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and the other around Louis’s, and Zayn was thankful for the comfort of his childhood friend. “Of course, Zee,” he murmured. “Together.”

*          *          *

Zayn looked out at the rest of the Dragon Clan, trying to find the words to articulate this guilt, this mistake that he’d made that was costing them a life.

“What happened earlier this morning–” Zayn stopped, choked off by the realization of what he was doing. Failure. He was admitting defeat and weakness and an inability to protect the one that he loved.

He loved Liam.

Louis placed a warm hand on Zayn’s shoulder, comforting in the power of its grip. Zayn turned to look at the young man that had become his friend, overflowing with guilt when he saw that Louis’s cheeks were streaked with tears again, his eyes red and puffy. It was then that he realized the impact on everyone that Liam had come into contact with; he’d forgotten yet again that Louis was Liam’s big brother, that they shared a bond that had just been reconnected but that was, yet again, cut short. And this time, it was by Zayn’s mistake.

He swallowed and looked back out at the masses of people gathered there, looking over the worried eyes of George and Jaymi and Josh and JJ, and he saw Perrie there too, biting her lip next to Leigh-Anne, Jesy, and Jade.

They were all watching, waiting; judging.

“Liam is gone.”

Simple enough in hindsight, perhaps a bit harsh but that was it. It was out in the open and the hard part was over. The confusion on the faces of the Clan members was heartbreaking, and those that had their mouths open in shock and worry were even worse. He swallowed the lump in his throat and muscled on, the words spilling out of his mouth in a rush.

“We were out in the fields beyond mine and Liam’s hut, the one where we evacuate to in case of a fire. I had a knife, and Liam was unarmed. The Northern Tribe had sent some sort of raiding party, probably four or five or maybe even more men, and they ambushed us. I got overpowered and Liam was taken. It’s been a few hours since his disappearance, and I will admit that I made a grave mistake in not protecting Liam. Once I heal, we will send out a party of our own to find and retrieve Liam from the hold of the Tribe.”

“Will he live that long?” a voice called from the crowd.

Zayn looked out at his fellow Clan members, meeting each of their eyes. “Liam will live,” he swore. “He will.”

*          *          *

When Liam woke again, it was because of the pain of being dropped on the ground. He groaned, head throbbing, as he was picked up and roughly shoved upwards, trying to pry his tired eyes open.

Through the blurry vision borne of unconsciousness, he saw a crowd of people gathered around him, and for a moment he was back in the Clan, back with the warmth of friendship and familiarity. But then an ugly laugh hit his ears, mocking and mirthful, and Liam knew where he was.

The Northern Tribe had not been a nightmare.

He raised his head, looking at the burly man that stood over him, wearing a cape of furs. He was familiar from years ago, the vague memory of a signed treaty when he was five or six coming up. “Sorren Ortensson,” he muttered. “I should’ve known.”

“And Prince Liam Payne of England,” Sorren replied with equal vehemence. “Slumming it with the Dragon Clan, my pampered prince?”

Liam ignored the jab at the Clan and stared up at the eyes of his captor. “You are breaking a great many laws with this capture, Sorren.”

Sorren raised a thick eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. “Does it look like I care?”

“We had a treaty!” Liam protested. “Your people would leave the Dragon Clan and the English alone as long as we left you the seas to the north!”

“To hell with that treaty!” Sorren scoffed. “An unfair deal, and I couldn’t care less what you Southern assholes think. We will take what we deserve.”

“You know you can sell me,” Liam reasoned. “I can assure you that England and the Dragon Clan will be more than willing to pay for my release from your possession.” And he knew it was true. Once the crown prince of England and now the leader of the most fearsome tribe in the land, Liam knew that he’d fetch a considerable sum from any buyer.

The burly tribe leader seemed to weigh his options, looking Liam over with an appraising eye. “All in due time,” he amended, but to Liam it was nothing but a thinly veiled threat. “Until then, little prince, let’s have a bit of fun.”

Liam bit his lip.

Sorren beckoned a man from the crowd, whispering in his ear with a barely audible “Have fun” falling from his lips with a sneer. The man nodded, smiled, and then he was walking towards Liam with a feral smile, a knife twirling in his hand. “Little boy, so innocent,” he hissed through yellowed teeth, running the flat edge of the blade down the line of Liam’s cheek. Liam was screaming inside, his legs trembling and heart racing, but he bit his lip and tried to stare straight ahead, meeting the eyes of nobody that watched.

The man’s knife traveled downward, slicing through the now-filthy gray shirt that had been Zayn’s, nicking the skin as it went. Liam hissed at the pain, shivering when the material fell from his shoulders. The same went for his breeches, leaving Liam vulnerable and bare before the Northern Tribe, who jeered and laughed at his appearance.

Four other men came over, forcing Liam onto his hands and knees and each holding a wrist or ankle down. Liam heard clothing being rustled behind him and knew what was coming, tried to twist away from it because this couldn’t be happening, shouldn’t be happening.

There was a prodding at his rear, haphazard at best before there was the searing pain of being entered, of being ripped open by another man.

And Liam screamed. Arched his back and tried to fight the hold on his wrists and hips and legs. And he was crying, sobbing for Zayn because this wasn’t right, this way that he was being taken and stripped and torn.

The men and women around him laughed, cackles of glee filling his ears and he needed to make it stop, needed to run and go back to Zayn’s amber eyes and soft touches and the feel of silk on skin. But now there was only pain and humiliation and fear where love had once touched him. This man, still nameless, took him mercilessly and broke him, teeth biting the shoulder that Zayn had kissed, hand yanking the hair that belonged to the fingers of another.

The feeling of being so broken, vulnerable, a toy for these bandits, was unbearable, and the hand on his back keeping him from bucking was possessive, taking what it shouldn’t have. Liam’s hands were burning, forced into the gravel, and kept his eyes screwed shut and head low, determined not to let these men see him scream.

A prince’s pride to the end.

The man finished inside of him with a shout of pleasure, and Liam squirmed at the feeling of being filled by the bandit’s seed. It was wrong, the way that

It was mere moments after the bandit had pulled out of him, leaving come dripping sickeningly down Liam’s thighs and mixing with the blood that was probably there too, that another one replaced him, entering him without any warning.

This time, Liam screamed from the overstimulation and the pain.

“I love the sweet-looking ones,” he hissed into the curve of Liam’s ear, and Liam smelled the stink of sweat and sex on his breath. “You can watch them break from the outside in.”

Liam wanted to lash out and hit this man, but the hands on him held him down, pushing him harder into the gritty ground. He lowered his head and groaned from the agony that had not turned to pleasure like it had with Zayn, too focused on the pain of being stretched and taken and torn.

He lost count of how many men had their way with him, and at some point they approached his mouth as well, forcing him to take them down into him as much as he could, the humiliation and agony burning like the stretch and the pull on his hair and his skin and on what was Zayn’s.

After what seemed like minutes, or hours, or the rest of the night, the final man finished inside of Liam with a groan and pulled out, leaving Liam hollow and aching.

Sorren’s laugh rang through his ears. It was a rough laugh, grating on the ears with a touch of malice.

Liam hated it already.

“Enough, boys! Let the little prince go. I want to save a bit of him for myself in the times to come.” Again, there was that threat, but Liam was too delirious to care. Too much, he thought, too much for a boy so weak.

“Take him to the slaves’ tent.” It was a dismissive tone, pleased with the show but bored with what was left. “Let him recover for a bit and then bring him to me tomorrow.”

Liam barely registered the words, dully acknowledging the hands roughly grabbing his arms and pulling him upward, and he struggled not to collapse on his too-weak knees, the skin on them torn and bloody.

They carried him out and away, past jeering men that had surely had their way with him and women that whispered and laughed, taking pleasure out of his humiliation.

He ignored them and let his head loll down so his chin touched his chest, exhausted and naked. The hands brought him to a crude hut just a short bit from where he’d been raped, dumping him on a pile of straw mats that scratched his skin but felt better than any of the hands from that night.

“Little whore enjoyed it, I bet,” one of the voices whispered, fading away as they left him, broken and bloody and naked, on the ground.

The other voice chuckled darkly. “Seemed to when I had him.”

Liam closed his eyes, screwing them shut to block out the image of this new prison. He opened them wide, praying with all his soul that he’d wake up next to Zayn and his soft amber eyes and lavender-scented water. But the stench of sweat remained, and the straw scratched him where he was oversensitive.

He let the tears fall then, choking out of him in massive sobs that wracked his broken body that had been so violated.

A prince broken, he thought.

“Zayn,” he whimpered.

Voices cackled outside, speaking of how good it’d been to have him.

He let his eyes slide shut, the nightmare of reality disappearing into unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all begin to crack under the pressure.

They held a funeral service for Liam the [next](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/45311580946/show-me-how-to-live) morning.

The chances of surviving a capture from the Northern Tribe were little to none, regardless of Liam’s value as a bargaining chip.

They took chains of flowers, one woven in by each [member](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/45311580946/show-me-how-to-live) of the tribe, and laid it on a bed of oak slabs, no body there to wreath with the fragrant blossoms. Instead, there was only the silk shroud that Liam had brought with him from England. It was something all English royals had, something to bury them with when they died.

They burned all of it.

Zayn watched it burn to ashes, ignoring the sickening feeling rising from his stomach and up his throat as the fragrance of the [flowers](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/45311580946/show-me-how-to-live) turned acrid, sticky in the burning that was the smoke. The beautiful silk of the shroud, all of the red threads interwoven with blue and white that shimmered as it burned, curling upon itself with no body to hold.

His father’s hand patted his shoulder, a gesture that seemed to be meant to give Zayn comfort. All it did, however, was remind him of why he was here. He’d sentenced his husband to death, in essence.

Long after the others had gone, Zayn sat on the hard-packed earth, carding his fingers through blades of grass that were speckled with pieces of ash. Alone, left only with the smoldering remains of the bonfire, the twist in Zayn’s gut became unable to ignore.

The sobs were painful when they came, burning the wound in his side when his sides heaved with the strength of his tears. The utter shame at having lost someone, and the grief for a life cut short so soon after they’d met, were overwhelming, conflicting and painful.

Zayn might’ve even loved Liam.

And the echoes of his cries rang back to his ears from where they bounced off of the huts, a reminder that he was not alone here. Zayn looked up, peering through the kaleidoscope that his tears had woven across his eyes and checking for any tribesmen that might’ve seen him.

He had to get out.

Left with no private place in the village – guards had been stationed outside his hut at his father’s orders – Zayn left the safety of his home, heading through the woods to a different clearing from the one where he and Liam had been ambushed. The trail opened to a smaller field where horses were tied to stakes that had been driven into the ground, supplies stacked in huts at the side of the meadow.

He saw Hantu immediately, the horse’s bright palomino coat glimmering against the darker coats of most of the other horses. Weaving between the warm, grazing bodies of the other horses, he moved towards his stallion, burying his wet face in the rugged warmth of Hantu’s mane.

“I miss him already,” he whispered into his companion’s neck.

Hantu whinnied softly and nudged Zayn with his nose, snorting into Zayn’s hair. It was comforting, the way that the horse could read him so well.

He leaned against the warm bulk of Hantu’s side, trying to steady his breathing. He let his head rest against the taut muscles of the horse’s neck, allowing his breathing to synchronize with the stallion’s.

It might’ve been hours that he leaned against Hantu, but if that was how long it took for Zayn to let his tears run their course, then he would stay there for another hundred years if he had to.

A horse’s snuffling breath sounded close to his ear, not an uncommon sound but one that felt misplaced. Hantu’s head was bent, nibbling at the grass. He couldn’t have been the horse that had greeted him.

Carefully, so as not to disturb whatever horse that was there, he turned his head, looking right at a long gray muzzle. It was an unfamiliar stallion with dark eyes that reflected the brightness of the sun.

“Who’re you, then?” Zayn asked, rubbing at the ears of the stallion, who tossed his head with a little nicker of greeting. “Who do you belong to?”

He ran his fingers along the line of the horse’s jaw, finding the halter that kept the horse in check. It was a leather make, much unlike the hemp that the Clan used to tie its horses. This horse was not Clan born.

English horses wore leather, Zayn realized.

It was Liam’s horse, Storm.

He held the horse’s head in his hands, looking at the wide, trusting dark eyes of the animal. “Little Badai, you miss him.”

The stallion’s ears twitched, and he let out a little nicker, still staying docile in Zayn’s arms. Zayn let out a breath, still shaky from his grief.

He knew what he had to do.

*          *          *

“Look at you, little whore.”

Liam glared up at the tribesman who had woken him, trying to appear intimidating through the pain that permeated his body and throbbed with a vengeance. It was the worst feeling in the world. “What do you want?” he growled, surprised that he even had the courage left to reply to the tribesman, seeing as he was probably one of the men that had raped him the night before.

The man lifted his chin, a thin eyebrow arching into a challenge. “You will not show me such disrespect,” he ordered. “You are nothing now, nothing but a slave.”

“What do you want?” Liam repeated.

“Sorren wants you.”

With that, Liam found himself unceremoniously lifted and shoved out of the alcove that he’d been given as sleeping quarters, trying not to show the pain that ripped through him when he moved. He looked down at himself, painfully aware of the fact that he was still unclothed.

He looked up at the man of the Tribe. “Could I have clothes?”

The man chuckled and jerked his chin towards the corner of the tent. There, a small bundle of fabric lay piled on the ground. “Make it quick,” he ordered.

Liam reached for the material, picking up one of the pieces, a large tunic. It was a soft deerskin, so deceptively gentle when it came from such a hostile society. He pulled the tunic over his head, glad to find that it was large enough to reach almost to his knees. A deerskin belt of similar make rested on the ground, and he tied it around the waist of the outfit, cinching it into some semblance of normalcy in an alien world.

The entire Northern Tribe watched him as he left the small tent where he’d been, whispering to each other as he passed. They followed the same route that they had when Liam had first been taken to the tent, going in the reverse direction to what was surely the main hub of the village.

There, a large, dark structure woven of logs and vines waited, and Liam stumbled as the guards pushed him just a little too quickly towards the building.

The whispers of the outside crowd disappeared when Liam ducked past the heavy pelt that hung as a door across the opening to the building, entering a dimly lit room where some burly men were talking urgently to Sorren. They broke apart when Liam was thrust forward, head bowed, into their midst.

“Liam!” Sorren exclaimed. “We have much to discuss!”

Liam looked up at the leader of the Northern Tribe. “Like what?” he challenged. “Like how you’re going to let me go back to my home?”

Sorren laughed, and the others in the room joined in, filling the building with suffocating bellows and the scent of sour wine. Still chortling, Sorren exclaimed, “Far from that, little prince. You’re here now. We have to discuss your life in our little group.”

Liam shrank back, waiting for the inevitable statement of his fate.

“You are now a possession of the Northern Tribe. You were won fairly in combat-“

“Unfair combat!” Liam protested.

Sorren held up a finger to shush him. “But it was combat, was it not? And that is perfectly in order with the treaty we signed.” When Liam deigned not to protest, the tribe leader continued, “Unless you are formally retrieved by your own people, you belong to me. You will sleep in my tent, and you will fulfill my needs. You are a house slave and a slave to attend to my desires.”

Liam bowed his head, feeling the tightening in his throat that signified the beginning of tears.

Sorren continued, ignoring Liam’s plight or perhaps even enjoying it. “You, Liam Payne, are mine.”

And even though Liam’s mind screamed that he belonged to Zayn, and to Zayn only, he allowed his body to be escorted to a small cushion that sat next to Sorren’s carved wood chair, where he was forced to sit down. He curled up instinctively on the warmth of the cushion, ignoring the mocking chuckles of the men watching him.

Sorren’s boots traipsed over to him, and Liam lifted a head to see the commander bearing a leather collar. “A collar to keep the nice whore in line,” Sorren announced, wrapping the collar around Liam’s neck. “Do you like it, little prince?”

Liam choked a bit when the collar was pulled tight against his windpipe, making him gasp for air, but still he tried not to let the discomfort show.

“Of course you do,” Sorren said smugly, and he sat down in his throne, a meaty hand traveling downwards to card through Liam’s hair. Liam cringed and tried not to think too much about how he was being treated like a pet.

Though he was a pet, after all, but that realization only drove the salt deeper into the wounds that had been opened.

He was nothing.

*          *          *

Harry was worried.

Probably more worried than usual, and that was saying something because Harry knew just as well as the rest of the Clan that he was the most careful person in the Clan. There was a reason why he was the leader’s advisor, after all.

Zayn hadn’t come back from the meadow where the horses were lodging since Liam’s funeral service, and there was nobody in the village that could vouch for his whereabouts.

He decided to head over to the horse meadow to try and find Zayn, fearful that his best friend would do something stupid.

Of course, in accordance with Harry’s continuous streak of bad luck lately, he was cursed with the most idiotic friend in the world.

Zayn was packing saddle bags into the saddle of his large horse, Hantu. The Clan leader’s dark eyes were flashing as he turned about in a small circle, picking up supplies and tying them to his horse. Another horse, one that Harry felt like he should recognize, was also laden with bags.

It was Liam’s horse, Storm, Harry realized.

“Zayn, what are you doing?” Harry asked, pushing past horses to follow his friend.

Zayn whirled on him, hands already grasping the reins of his horse’s bridle. “I’m going to go get Liam.” There was a casual element to his voice, like it was the only logical thing to do.

“You’re supposed to stay and heal,” he argued.

Zayn snorted and tightened the girths on Hantu’s saddle. “Do you really think that’ll stop me from leaving?”

Harry frowned. “I hoped it would,” he muttered.

“But when have I ever really taken someone’s advice?” The leader of the Clan finished tying the girths and stood to face Harry, face cool and collected. “Besides, I have to find Liam.”

“Liam’s dead, Zayn.” And Harry meant it. There was no way that the Northern Tribe would’ve kept Liam alive for this long.

He found himself slammed up against a tree trunk, Zayn’s face inches from his. “You fucking take that back,” he snarled. “Don’t you do this to me, Harry. I don’t have anyone else who’ll help me. Don’t you dare think for a  _second_  that I’m giving up without a fight. Liam is out there, Haz. And he needs me. And I need him.”

Harry let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Fine,” he whispered. “I’ll get Louis.”

He broke free of Zayn’s tight grip and headed back towards the main trail to the village. As an afterthought, he looked back at his friend and called, “Don’t leave without us, and don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

Zayn snorted, turning back to Hantu to brush his thick mane. “If you’re coming to help me, I’m not going to just run off.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you, though,” Harry replied over his shoulder, hurrying towards home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Zayn attempts to go to find Liam, the boy in captivity faces issues of his own.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Zayn!” Louis yelled, storming into the horses’ clearing with his loud voice preceding him. “Running away when you’re half-healed and without reinforcements, too? Are you trying to get yourself killed, Malik?”

Zayn glared over at his friend. “You’re my reinforcements, Louis.”

“Where did I ever go wrong with you?” Louis threw up his hands into the air, but he [proceeded](http://ziambromancing.tumblr.com/post/50459817397/show-me-how-to-live) towards his own horse regardless, preparing the stallion to ride.

“You’ve only been here for a few years,” Zayn countered. “It’s not your fault you married my best friend and got stuck with me.”

Louis pursed his lips in thought. “You’re insufferable. I hope you know that,” he informed Zayn, but Zayn could still feel the affection lying beneath the older boy’s statement. “So, we’re off to rescue my baby brother,” Louis mused, “from the Northern Tribe, and we have no idea where to look.”

When Harry had gone off to fetch Louis, Zayn had fetched his maps of the surrounding areas. It did, after all, pay to be leader of a war tribe. With sources from the cartographers of the Clan as well as from foreigners like the English, Zayn had managed to get a rough idea of where he wanted to go. The Northern Tribe had probably set up camp somewhere near the armada of ships that had brought the scum over to the British Isles. However, the question was just  _where_. There were thousands of small inlets that were mapped on the British coast, and there were probably many more where the Tribe could be hiding. It was like finding a needle in a haystack, the chances of them finding Liam slim to none.

Despite his fears, Zayn nodded. “That is the idea, yeah,” he replied. “Come on, we’ve got to go before the others notice we’re gone.”

“The fact that we’re sneaking off like this is disgusting,” Harry muttered.

Zayn whipped around, glaring at Harry. “What did you say?” he snapped.

“I don’t think you realize the weight of this, Zayn,” Harry spoke up, tightening the girth on his mare’s stomach. “Do you understand what will happen when we come back?”

“We’ll be heroes and we’ll be victorious,” Zayn replied shortly. Harry still didn’t seem to understand that this was Liam they were talking about. “We’ll have saved Liam and we’ll be welcomed back with open arms.”

“No, Zayn,” Harry growled. “We won’t.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he challenged, feeling the all-too-familiar rage bubbling in his stomach. Why couldn’t Harry and Louis just understand?

Harry raised his chin in a challenge. “Yes. You’re the leader of a clan that is now cowering in fear because, oh yeah, we just got attacked by the Northern Tribe. And now this fearless leader is leaving his people floundering with no explanation. We’ll be assumed dead, Zayn, or they’ll come looking for us and they’ll get hurt too. Do you want that?”

“What I want is to amend for my past mistakes,” Zayn replied with equal venom.

“By making more?” Louis asked in a calm, deadly voice.

Zayn looked at him in disbelief.

Louis shrugged. “If you’re going to do this, realize the fucking implications.”

“Are you coming or not?” Zayn snarled, exasperated with his friends because every moment that they spent bickering was another moment when Liam was in pain.

The other two boys mounted their horses, and Harry lifted his chin. “Only because I know that you’re going whether we like it or not, and you’re as good as dead taking on the Northern Tribe alone.”

“Good enough for me,” Zayn announced, mounting his mare. “Let’s go.”

The other two young men spurred their horses into motion, and Zayn didn’t miss Louis looking back for just a moment, worry creasing his face. But then the moment was gone and Louis replaced the hardened look in his eyes and followed Harry out of the clearing and away from the safety of home.

When the older boy passed, Zayn took him by the shoulder, reaching across the gap between the two horses.  “Louis,” he mumbled, feeling ridiculous for getting so sappy about such a thing, “thank you.”

Louis grinned just a bit. “Come on, Princess, let’s go rescue my brother.”

*          *          *

Liam sat quietly on the bundle of thin furs that made up his home, feeling the air growing colder around him as the sun set. He idly trailed his hand through the dirt by his bedding area, tracing English letters into the dust. He’d already written his name in a million different fashions, going backwards and trying to put it into its mirror image form. That had gotten old two days into his captivity in the Tribe’s quarters, and he had since turned to his imagination.

His favorite topic tended to be Zayn. There was no trace on the scuffed dirt of all of the poetry and small stories that Liam had written by the faint sunlight that would stream through the flimsy walls of his prison. All traces of his affections had to be erased before Sorren or one of the other men of the Tribe came calling. Once, Sorren had walked into Liam’s small corner of the world, ready for his morning share of Liam’s body, only to find Liam sitting in the center of a written circle of names, the largest and most elaborate of which read ‘Zayn’. He’d been furious.

That had been the first time Liam had been whipped.

Now, in the secret of the fading daylight, Liam played it safe and drew the outline of two horses.

He looked up with a start when the curtain that partitioned his area from the rest of the main hut was thrust open, and he hastily scrubbed an arm across the drawing, sitting up straight for the visitor. Sorren entered without further ado, already unbuckling the thick belt along his waist and offering a leer to Liam. “Good afternoon, my sweet,” he purred, his raspy voice dragging itself down Liam’s back in grating chills.

“Did you have a good day, Sorren?” Liam asked obediently, taking off his own moccasins. Inside, his heart still hammered. Though Sorren always acted cheerful at first, the Tribe leader’s answer would determine the mood of the night, and, by that same token, how Liam would feel afterwards. The past week had been full of rivalry between the Northern Tribe and some native English peasants, and the past few nights with Sorren had been bad. Liam constantly felt sore and overworked as a result of Sorren’s furious expulsions of frustration that were taken out on his body.

Sorren moved his hands to Liam’s, bringing the young man’s hands to touch his waistband. Liam waited for when he would be given the command to pull the Tribe leader’s pants down. “A good day, Liam, a good day,” he announced. “We killed the leader of that rival village today!”

“Oh?” Liam questioned politely, fingers fumbling at the leather waistband. “And how was that for you?”

“Glorious,” Sorren hissed through his teeth. “Blood of the Englishmen everywhere, the obnoxious snobs.”

Liam took in a slow, deep breath to calm himself, pushing the fact out of his mind that these were his people that had been massacred, and he danced his fingers along the waistband of Sorren’s trousers, pulling them down inch by inch.

“Get on with it, slut, I’m in a good mood,” Sorren purred, his hand finding its way to his favorite place in Liam’s hair, and Liam hastened to obey. He pulled the trousers down quickly, leaving them pooled around Sorren’s ankles because he knew that the leader wouldn’t be around for long. There was no intimacy to this act.

He wrapped his still-shaking hand around Sorren’s half-hard length, beginning to stroke  it slowly to full hardness, but Sorren stopped him after a moment. “Your clothes, boy,” he hissed, and Liam scooted back on the furs to tear his shirt from his body and he pulled his trousers off in a similar manner. Sorren licked his lips at the sight of Liam’s naked body, and Liam tried to suppress a shudder at the animalistic possessiveness in the man’s gaze. “Go on with it again,” the leader commanded.

Liam shuffled forward on his knees and began to stroke Sorren again, listening to the man’s barely concealed groans at the ministrations. Judging from the reaction, Sorren was ready, so Liam stretched his neck forward and took Sorren’s cock into his mouth, sucking on the head while Sorren pushed his head down with his meaty hand entangled in Liam’s overgrown curls.

At one point, Liam nearly gagged when Sorren thrust hard down his throat, but tried to recover by swallowing around the length that Sorren shoved forcefully into his mouth, inadvertently eliciting a pleasured grunt from the Tribe leader.

“Enough,” Sorren growled, pulling himself from Liam’s mouth. He put his hands on Liam’s shoulders and pushed the younger boy down onto the thin furs; Liam’s back made hard contact with the ground, barely protected by the floor coverings. Sorren put his hands on Liam’s legs and spread them wide, roughly shoving himself into Liam without any further preparation.

Liam fisted his hands in the furs, a cracking scream drawing from his throat. The pain, though all too familiar now, was still a jarring hurt every single time. It surprised him that the pain would still be there; he had been stretched and taken by so many men in the time he’d been in the Tribe’s possession that he thought his body would’ve surely adjusted. But the pain persisted.

Sorren’s movements were jerky and strong, the only lubrication that formed some sort of smooth passageway being Liam’s saliva from earlier, and even that was meager at best. The thrusts came with waves of agony for Liam, the intrusion burning his insides. He had no choice, though, but to wrap his legs around Sorren’s waist and act like he was enjoying it. Sorren always did love a show.

“You whore, you love it,” Sorren growled into his ear, putrid sweat rolling off of him and onto Liam’s body, smearing where it would leave a permanent aroma. Marking. “Show me that you love it.”

Liam rolled his hips at the words, screwing his eyes tighter and moaning loudly when Sorren’s cock pushed deep inside of him with a powerful thrust. Sorren hummed his approval and continued, Liam vocalizing along to the rhythm of the man fucking him.

“Beg for me, slut,” Sorren hissed at Liam, his hands tugging ferociously at Liam’s hair.

 “Sorren,” Liam groaned, hating himself for every sound that came from his mouth.

Sorren stilled in his movements, wrapping meaty hands around Liam’s neck. He bent low and hissed into Liam’s ear, “That didn’t sound like very convincing begging to me.”  A statement, but it was veiling a threat to cut and kill if his needs were not met.

Liam nodded frantically and grinded down on Sorren inside of him, trying to please the older man because he knew what would happen if he didn’t. “Sorren, please, fuck me!” he screamed. The words fell alien and heavy from his lips. “Sorren, please!”

“There’s a good whore.” Sorren resumed his actions, thrusting into Liam with bruising force.

Liam moaned for him when he felt the man’s fingers dig into his sides with inhuman force. He arched his back when he saw the glint of a knife next to the furs.

Threats.

Promises.

He closed his eyes and prayed for salvation, for absolution, for  _Zayn_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be wary of extreme violence in this chapter from the POV's of both Liam and Zayn. If whipping or stabbing or blood is a trigger for you, please be careful.

“Boy!”

Liam had come to respond only to that in his time here. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Months? The air was gaining a chilly bite, and it had been late summer when he’d been taken. He roused himself from the straw mat that had become his home, ignoring the painful twinge in his back from the constant, never ending times when he was used for the needs of the Tribe.

Sorren waited for him on his throne, a lazy smile on his lips. Liam walked past the sneering men that waited like wraiths on the sides of the hut, ignoring the sniggers and lewd comments about how much of a good whore he was, and how he’d been begging for their cocks.

Lies. All of it was shit.

Liam bowed his head and kneeled next to Sorren’s throne, allowing the leader of the Northern Tribe to card his fingers through Liam’s hair. In the time that he’d been captive, Liam’s hair had grown long and neglected, growing unruly and knotted from lack of proper care. Sorren seemed to love it; he took pleasure out of pulling on the long locks to make Liam scream.

Sorren really did enjoy when Liam screamed.

“Liam,” Sorren cooed, his voice sickly sweet and low. Liam knew that voice and drew in a shuddering breath; it had been weeks since the last time. “Liam, do you know why I’ve called you here?”

“I was bad,” Liam murmured, keeping his eyes on the wooden boards on the ground in front of him because he knew that the

“Yes, Liam, you have been bad. Do you want to know why?”

Liam flinched when Sorren’s fingers tightened briefly in his hair. He nodded quickly when the pressure was gone, murmuring, “Yes, sir.”

His obedience seemed to be amusing to the men and women of the Northern Tribe, as evidenced by the outburst of snickers at his reply. “You’ve trained the whore well, Sorren,” one man laughed, and Liam recognized the voice as that of one of the most frequent visitors to his tent; his name was Ershyo.

Sorren’s voice turned cold and angry when he replied. “Actually, Ershyo, I seemed to have trained him too well,” he growled, his fingers trailing down the back of Liam’s neck, light at first but then pressing down on crucial pressure points. Liam flinched. Sorren continued, “Liam here seems not to be restraining himself around other men. It seems,” he purred, voice deadly smooth with fury, “that Liam here is eager to welcome other men into his body. He touches them, you see, like a lover would.”

 “He begs for it!” one voice screamed from the back, raspy with mirth. Liam snapped his head up and glared in the direction of the one who had spoken out.

 “Because you make me!” he spat before he could curb his frustration at the lies being spoken.

Sorren’s hand smacked him so hard that he fell sideways to the ground, cradling his throbbing head.

 “Remember your place, slut!” Sorren roared. “You have no right to be speaking to members of this tribe unless it’s to beg for them to bury themselves in your greedy, whore ass!”

Liam whimpered and remained curled up on the ground, holding his head in his arms. He cried out when Sorren’s foot caught him in the ribs, hearing the grating laughter of the people of the Tribe.

 “You are no prince, Payne!” Sorren yelled, spittle from his mouth landing on Liam’s cheek. “You are nothing but a whore!”

Liam sobbed into the dirty ground, body shaking and aching.

 “Tie him up outside,” Sorren dismissed contemptuously, amusement in his voice. “Let him learn his place again, since the last time seemed not to have made him obedient.”

Strong arms grabbed at his arms and legs, roughly bringing him to his feet and dragging his stumbling body out into the bitter cold of the Northern Tribe’s village. Through the haze of tears that bubbled against his eyes, Liam saw the two familiar figures that he dreaded up ahead.

There was the post with the metal cuffs at the top.

And there was the man with the long whip waiting for him.

Liam fell to his knees in front of the post before the men that carried him even had the chance to urge him onwards; there was nothing left in him, no way to resist.

Defeat.

He raised his hands over his head, feeling rough hands push his bony wrists onto the freezing metal of the manacles. The cuffs on his wrists were the only things holding him upright, and he slumped forward, waiting for what he knew would come.

With all the dignity a former prince could have, Liam let his shirt be torn from his back, exposing his upper body to the wintry air. There were murmurs and cheers and catcalls from the members of the Tribe who had gathered to witness this particular whipping; it seemed that they knew it would be a good one.

“How many today, Sorren?”

The master of torture had a rasping voice, something that sounded like it belonged to a creature of the night. It was a painful reminder of everything soft and sweet that had been taken from Liam, a stamp of the agony that he was to endure.

Sorren’s hum of thought slid like ice down Liam’s spine. “Well, Antioch, Liam here has been considerably disobedient…make it forty for good measure. Maybe this time he’ll learn from his mistakes.” He came up behind Liam and brushed a finger down the boy’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, Liam?”

Liam kept his eyes firmly on the ground.

A hum of disapproval came from Sorren. “So now the whore won’t make a sound?” His footsteps moved away from Liam, crunching in the frosty dirt. “Make the little bird sing, Antioch.”

Liam clenched his fists in the manacles. The whip’s tail dragged past his knee as it wound back to its owner, the tip flicking his ankle on the way. He closed his eyes and waited for what was to come.

The whip whistled through the air.

Contact.

Liam arched his back, screaming into the frigid air. Fire danced along his back, intensifying when the thirty wounds from the first lashing were irritated and opened once more.

One.

The weapon withdrew and the people laughed.

This time, the scream tore with a vengeance from his throat, and the crowd howled their pleasure.

Two.

By the sixth lash, Liam was shaking, his tongue bitten and dripping blood onto the ground below him.

By the ninth, his legs had given out and he was dangling by his wrists while Antioch threw the fire against his back with eagerness unseen in any human with a shred of a conscience.

By the fourteenth, his screams had torn his throat to the point that when he coughed, blood splattered the whipping post next to his face.

He endured the lashes, biting his lip that had since been torn raw and split on the side, trying to forget the agony of it. The biting cold of the wind whistled into the wounds that were being bitten into his already flayed back, bringing fires of agony with each little gust.

His head hung low, and he fixated his eyes on the silver circles of the necklace he’d gotten from Zayn at their wedding, watching the last reminder of who he was swing back and forth below him, the black cord fraying and filthy. The necklace with his family crest was similarly tarnished, the heirloom ruined by captivity. Guilt coursed through him, the weight of it hitting him with the force of the whip. He had not kept his gifts sacred.

Failure on all accounts.

Liam fell into a sort of rhythm, a scream tearing from his lips at the exact moment that the whip struck and bringing a new one to his lips almost automatically. Somehow – maybe it was twenty five lashes into the torture – the screams took form.

The same words fell from his lips, the same ones that were out of him in cries at times but other times in reverent whispers, reminders that kept him calm when fought his way into slumber. He didn’t know why they were the ones that he kept, the distant memory of a gray-eyed girl giggling to him returning through the haze that was the torture.

“ _Aku mencintaimu, Zayn._ ”

_I love you, Zayn._

*          *          *

“Zayn, please, it’s been weeks,” Harry reasoned. “It’s getting too cold and we still haven’t found a trace of the Northern Tribe.”

Zayn turned to his friend, his eyes flinty brown. “What’s your point? It’s been getting cold for a long while now. It shouldn’t be such a revelation now.”

Harry reached out to touch Zayn’s broad shoulder. It had gone on too long now. “Zayn, I’ve left the Clan and gone with you for too many times to count. I’ve already been by your side. But now it’s been nearly two months and it’s getting to be too much. Please, can we just stop this search and head back to the Clan? We can replenish supplies and get reinforcements–”

“And give up?” Zayn interrupted incredulously. “Honestly, Harry, I can’t believe that you’re just giving up like this. You agreed to come with me. You _knew_ what you were getting into here.” He turned away, staring  out at the tree trunks around them that were growing barren. “I’m not giving Liam up without a fight. I owe him that at least.”

Harry felt himself deflate. ‘Zayn, you’re working yourself into the ground here,” he whispered, wishing that his friend could see reason. “We need help.”

“We’re close,” Zayn insisted. “I’ve been seeing all the signs. We're doing fine, Harry. I can tell."

"You're crazy," Harry muttered. He retreated to Louis's side by the fire. He looked back over at Zayn and saw that the older boy's back was rigid and tense. For the millionth time, Harry found himself feeling sorry for his friend. The guilt must surely be weighing him down.

Louis rubbed his back reassuringly, looking over at Zayn’s stark figure in the night. “Don’t worry,” he murmured into the shell of Harry’s ear, warming the skin there for a moment before the cold set in again, “we always find our way, don’t we?”

Zayn rejoined them at the fire, taking a stick and poking at the bird that rested by the embers where it was cooking slowly. Louis and Harry looked at the leader of the Dragon Clan, watching him carefully.

It would be another long night.

*          *          *

It happened when Zayn was out hunting.

Silence hung heavy in the air, and the only sound that broke it was the crunch of Zayn’s boots in the frosty grass.

That was what tipped him off.

He took a step and heard the expected crunch, but there seemed, though impossible, to be an echo to the noise. Zayn took another step, but this time there was no echo. The sound of his boot on the ground was solitary.

Zayn continued on in the empty morning, traipsing along to where he’d set traps in the hope that he’d catch a rabbit or two for him and his two companions. He gave no indication that he was suspicious of anything.

He bent to reset a trap that had been sprung by a failed spring mechanism, working at the twigs to find a better one.

_Crunch._

Zayn whipped around and shot his leg out, staying crouched as leverage while he drove his foot into the Achilles tendon of the man who had been following him. The scum fell to his knees on the frosty ground, groaning in pain, and Zayn leaped on top of him, holding him steady from behind. He whipped his knife from its sheath at his waist and held it to the man’s throat.

“Fuck,” the man hissed, half to him and half from the pain of being stricken in such a sensitive place. Zayn took a moment to take in the appearance of the man, trailing his eyes from the unwashed hair to the threadbare fur coat that he wore. This man was from the Northern Tribe, without a doubt.

“So you’re stalking me, eh?” Zayn chuckled, feeling wildly elated. This was the adrenaline rush he craved; this was the key to Liam. “A Northern Tribe man.”

“Fuck you,” the man spat, fighting against his grasp but failing. Internally, Zayn marveled at the scrawniness of these Northern Tribe people.

"Let me just ask you a question," Zayn hissed into the man's ear. He pressed his dagger to the strip of exposed throat that showed past fur scarves. "Which way is it to your home?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," the Tribesman sneered. "Dragon Clan scum."

"Do you or do you not have a young man in your property who belongs with the Clan?" Zayn demanded, ignoring the jibe. When the man only chuckled, Zayn let the tip of the dagger nick the skin at the soft part of his captive's throat. The scum from the Northern Tribe gasped a little bit, straining away from the tip of Zayn's blade.

"You want the Payne boy," he hissed. "You're his pretty little husband, aren't you?"

"You have Liam?" Zayn snarled, feeling elated and furious at the same time. “Where is he?”

“It,” the Tribe man sneered. “The whore.”

Zayn plunged his blade into the man’s shoulder without hesitation, still holding onto him as he screamed and writhed in his grasp. “What did you call him?” he asked calmly, seething on the inside.

Through gritted teeth, the man hissed, “He’s the whore. Our little prize.”

“And what do you do to him?” Zayn pressed further. When the man did not reply, Zayn grasped the hilt of the knife and twisted it, smiling grimly at the man’s screams.

“He’s Sorren’s,” the scum began, and Zayn didn’t bother to hide his disgusted shudder at the name of the leader of the Tribe, “and we use him for sex.”

Zayn bowed his head for a moment, feeling cold fury rush through his veins in waves. “Do you mean to say,” he asked, still with the deadly calm, “that you’ve been using Liam, my Liam, as your little whore?”

“Ours!” the man spat, grinning with blood-tinged teeth.

“Where is he?” Zayn demanded, adding pressure to the knife that still remained buried in flesh and bone and sinew.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” came the sneer.

Zayn ripped the blade from his victim’s shoulder and began to add pressure to the man’s neck with the volatilely sharp edge. “Tell me now and you can die quickly,” he bargained.

Silence.

Zayn hummed his disapproval, still maintaining an air of casual calm. “Well, I’m sure you’ve heard of my work in the past? Do you remember that, filth? I’m sure you know about how I was nine when I had my first kill with a blade. Father was so proud; he said I’d make a fearsome leader.” He laughed lightly. “And here I am.” He dragged the blade lightly across the glistening, sweating skin of his victim, feeling the fragile tissue split and begin to bleed.

“H-he’s–” the man was choking now, his fingers fluttering in fear in hi panic.

“Yes?” Zayn pressed in a silken voice.

“Just north of here, no more than two hours by horse,” the Tribe man blurted, voice strained from the damage to his throat.

Zayn let go of the man, his heart singing. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he purred, and he buried his dagger in the man’s stomach, smiling when another scream ripped the cold air. He twisted the blade as he pulled it out, feeling a burst of hatred as the man screamed yet again.

“You promised- you promised a quick death!” the man protested, clutching the wound and gasping in agony.

Looking back at his victim, his informant, Zayn smiled. “And you abused my husband.” He turned away, sheathing the blade that had so helped him. “I hear that belly wounds bleed out slowly,” he called over his shoulder. “Enjoy yourself!”

He walked away briskly, elation and triumph coursing through his veins.

_Liam._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They take back what was never Sorren's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally, the moment of truth! Don't worry, though! This story is far from over. Not even close. :)  
> Please be aware that I wrote this as quickly as possible for you guys, so pardon my unbeta'd mistakes!

They had arrived.

By some miracle, no other parties had come looking for the member of the Tribe that had been lost; Zayn had suggested that maybe the man had been escaping. But from what, they would probably never know. All that mattered was that they had found the village where the Northern Tribe was staying, and there was a near guarantee that Liam was there.

Zayn’s eyes hadn’t been so bright in weeks, Louis noticed, and there was a sort of thrumming energy that hadn’t been in him before. It was like he was rejuvenated; like he was given new purpose because they had found Liam. Victory was in sight.

The leader of the Clan had armed himself with his trademark bow and arrows, but there also was a line of long, wickedly sharp hunting blades belted at his waist. Those knives were a staple of the Dragon Clan, and they were crafted so well that even the roughest-hewn one could split a hair.

They were the instruments of war.

Harry crept back through the bushes from his vantage point, and his eyes were worried. “There’s a lot of them,” he warned, “and they all seem to have weapons of some sort. There’s a main hut in the center, next to the–” He stopped himself, looking away nervously.

Zayn arched an eyebrow. “Next to the what, Harry?” he asked, his voice showing that he wanted nothing short of the full truth.

The voice of Louis’s husband was impossibly small. “Next to the whipping post,” he whispered.

Though his face did not change, Zayn’s eyes were ablaze with fury. “Well,” he said with a tight, barely controlled note of fury in his forcedly calm voice, “it seems that there have been a few complications while we were looking.”

“Zayn…” Harry tried, looking wary.

“I don’t want any sort of compromise. I don’t care if we don’t get revenge. Not yet. I want Liam. That’s what we’re here for and if we don’t get him, then we’re better off killing ourselves.” Zayn’s eyes were flinty, and the words were spat with a certainty that scared Louis to the core.

He really was ready to die rather than fail to rescue Liam.

If he was still alive.

If they weren’t killed before they got to him.

He tightened his grip on the artisan-forged sword belted at his waist – he was still English at heart, despite everything, and his old weapon remained his – and let out a shaky breath. His brother was in there somewhere, dead or alive. And that was when Louis felt the rage that had coursed through Zayn, that readiness to burn the world to the ground if that meant getting Liam back. Zayn wanted blood; Louis knew that. Zayn wanted to cut and rip and kill, but not until he had his prize. After he had Liam, and only then, would Zayn take his revenge. Louis couldn’t help but admit to himself that he was more than ready to kill anybody in his path.

Harry came up beside him, silent and strong and dangerous. A fierce-looking set of daggers were belted at his waist, and Louis knew there were more, some underneath his jacket and others stowed in a boot. He nodded to Louis. “Ready for this?”

“For Liam,” Louis replied firmly.

“Then let’s go,” Zayn growled.”

Louis swallowed his fear and replaced it with hatred.

It was time to save his brother.

*          *          *

Liam was exhausted.

He felt wearier than he had for many weeks, and his limbs were heavy. The rumbling in his stomach had resumed with a new, painful ferocity, as though his hunger had grown even after weeks of continuous malnourishment. It felt like his body was fighting and giving up at the same time.

The wounds on his back from the whipping had been left untreated, and every time Liam moved, he could feel the rough, agonizing scrape of fabric on the loose skin that was hanging in tatters from his back. There was not a single moment for him to even attempt to treat himself with bandages of his own; he had been placed under watch under Sorren’s direct orders. It seemed that the leader of the Tribe did not like to share.

He’d not been allowed to leave his small, secluded corner for two days, even to relieve himself, and he’d had to endure the humiliation of using a corner of his area as a chamber pot. The place smelled rank, and he knew it.

Sorren threw aside the curtain suddenly, curling his lip at the stench of the unclean area. “Like a pig sty in here,” he muttered, half to himself and half to the guard waiting outside. The answering chuckle was all that was needed to set the weak fire in Liam alight. They took such perverse pleasure in his pain.

He looked dully at the man who had taken him captive, sitting cross-legged on the fur and straw mats. “Sorren,” he said simply, not even bothering to be polite. He was done. “What do you want?”

Sorren’s dark, muddy gray-brown eyes narrowed. “First, I want some respect,” he spat. “Didn’t you learn your lesson with Antioch the other day?”

The name of the master of torture sent shivers down Liam’s spine, recalling the figure dressed in black with that whip in his hand. Liam could almost feel the manacles on his wrists again. He opted to remain silent.

Apparently, that didn’t sit well with Sorren. “Answer me,” he hissed, fisting his hand in Liam’s shirt. His strength lifted Liam’s frame from the ground.

“Yes, sir, I learned,” Liam mumbled.

The leader snorted and dropped Liam unceremoniously to the floor, smirking when Liam cried out from the pain in his back. He raised a hand and backhanded Liam across the cheek, sending his thin form flying into the wall of the hut. Liam whimpered, his whole body aching as he curled in on himself.

“Pathetic,” Sorren spat. “Look what the prince has become.” He glanced behind himself, the snickers of the guard only serving to egg him on. “Liam Payne, I remember when your father and mother signed that sorry little treaty with me when you were just a wee little prince,” he sneered.

Liam said nothing, just panted raggedly and stared through the tears that filmed across his eyes.

“Did you really think you could keep me away forever?” Sorren drawled, and he idly kicked his boot into the sunken skin of Liam’s stomach. “No, little prince, we all know that nobody can hold off my people. We always return.”

“You always return,” Liam repeated, coughing painfully. “You do.”

The boot in his side ceased its pounding, and Sorren smiled. “Good boy.”

Good. He’d been a good boy. He’d be a good boy.

Sorren looked around suddenly, his eyes narrowing. “Where’s Ershyo?” he asked aloud, wandering out of the hut. Liam could hear his voice trailing away as he left. “I should’ve expected the bastard to have run. After I killed his son…” And then he was gone.

Liam shook and pulled his knees closer to his chest, letting the tears stream from his eyes. The pain was reawakened, and this time it stung bitterly. He allowed himself to sob, ignoring the dark chuckles of the guard outside.

He’d be a good boy from now on.

He did not hear when the screams began outside.

*          *          *

It was surprisingly easy to get into the village.

The place wasn’t guarded at all, and there were only a few fences that were built of raggedly chopped wood that surrounded the perimeter. It was obvious that the Tribe had been eager to just settle down as soon as they’d arrived from their accursed islands. It seemed that, caught up in the victory of taking new land and territory unopposed, the Northern Tribe had felt secure using the remote location in the mountains and forests of the North to keep them hidden.

A grave mistake.

Zayn’s eyes flickered as he crouched low behind a small hut, peering around the corner of the structure at the main village. The Tribe seemed to be gathered for a meal, so all of the members were clustered in a large circle off to the side of the camp; their loud voices carried to where the three young men waited.

“On my signal,” Zayn whispered, “Harry, you will engage any and all warriors in combat. I’ll pick them off from above. Louis, you’re the one that will go to get Liam once the majority of the opposition is held off. Got it?”

“What signal?” Louis asked, recognizing the one flaw in the plan.

Zayn grinned wickedly. “You’ll know. Trust me.”

And then he grasped the rough wooden logs of the hut and began to ascend to the top, scrambling onto the roof with feline ease. His black boots disappeared over the lip of the roof quickly, and Louis exchanged a loaded stare with Harry.

“You ready for this, Lou?” Harry asked quietly, and for a moment his battle-ready façade dropped and he grasped Louis’s hand. Louis squeezed it back, holding tightly to it like a lifeline before letting go.

“Just stay safe, okay?” Louis implored.

Harry gave him a sad look. “I can’t promise you that,” he whispered, “and we both know that.”

“Try, okay?” Louis murmured with a lump in his throat.

“Always.”

They exchanged a final, aching look that said all of the _I love you_ ’s that could be conveyed before a battle that they were likely to get killed in.

And then Louis put his hand on his sword and looked around the corner of the hut again.

A warrior at the head of the gathering of the Northern Tribe suddenly fell to his knees, blood pouring from his neck where an arrow was lodged.

Harry and Louis sprang as one, cued by the screams of the Tribe.

It had begun.

*          *          *

Zayn unloaded arrows from his bow with an unerring rhythm, picking off warriors as they reached for their swords.

A particular blur of black caught his eye in the fray, standing out among the fleeing women and children. A hooded man, dressed all in black, was staring up at Zayn from his spot by the smoldering fire. He did not move, save for his hand that placed itself at his waist in what looked to be a subconscious movement.

A coiled whip rested there.

Zayn’s limbs curled with fury, and he took particular pleasure in drawing an arrow back on his drawstring, letting it fly home with the accuracy that only a Dragon Clan native could have.

He smiled when the arrow buried itself between the man’s eyes.

“For Liam,” he hissed, watching the master of torture fall slowly, dead before he hit the ground.

His first act of vengeance served, Zayn resumed his volley of arrows as usual, picking off women and men alike as they rose to meet Harry and Louis.

His veins thrummed with adrenaline.

_Liam_.

*          *          *

Louis whipped around and swung his sword, grateful for its weight and length, feeling the satisfying crunch and tear of metal through skin and bone and muscle. A burly man fell at his feet, his identity unknown and Louis yanked the blade from the still, warm body with relish.

It had been a while since he’d killed.

“Lou! Duck!”

At the words, Louis dropped to the ground in an instant, somersaulting away while a silver blur whistled past where his head had been. Seconds later, a dagger buried itself in the heart of a young man that had been about to swing his sword at Louis’s head.

Louis looked up at Harry, who pulled a new blade from his boot. His husband smiled for a moment, his eyes a fiery green and his hair a mess. “You’re welcome,” he called, and then he ran back over to the shelter of a hut, lying in wait for the next Tribe native to engage him.

Louis had barely a moment to even give Harry a glance of thanks before he himself found himself remembering his mission; he made his way over to the main hut, ducking inside and out of the cold. The screams of the warring Tribe faded as he let the thick furs swing shut behind him.

A tall, muscular young man, probably no older than Louis, was standing outside of a curtained-off area, and he placed a hand on the hilt of his sword when Louis padded quietly into the hut. “Who’s there?” he called, looking into the shadows, and Louis almost laughed at the stupidity of the man.

He did let the laugh escape, and it was derisive and scathing. “Me,” he hissed, and drove his blade up underneath the man’s ribs.

The guard died quietly, falling limp on Louis’s sword with relative ease. He dropped like a sack of turnips when he was dropped, though, the smell of blood and bodily fluids beginning to emanate from his swiftly cooling body.

Louis threw aside the curtain to the corner without further ado, and he was immediately assaulted by the rank stench of neglected bodies and an uncleaned chamber pot. Coughing around the reek, Louis bent to touch the curled-up form on the ground. It seemed to be a child, frail and shaking. Whimpers like those from a dog curled from his shaking body.

“Liam,” Louis whispered, the realization turning from joy to pain in seconds.

Liam was bony to the touch, and through the threadbare shirt he wore, Louis could see the bones of his ribs and back. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed to penetrate to the bone, and Liam’s dark eyes, though looking shocked, were nothing but hollow.

“Louis,” Liam murmured, and his voice was raw and rough. “Louis, you came for me.” He seemed to be in a numb state, looking at him from underneath a fringe of overgrown curls.

“Oh, Liam,” Louis choked, his voice cracking on tears. Liam was so thin and small and broken. His brother with the bright smile and the brighter mind seemed to be gone from this shell of a human. “Liam, come on, we need to go!” He tugged gently at Liam’s arm, pulling him up from the mats. The younger boy cried out weakly in pain, and the quick lift seemed to trigger something within him. Liam’s eyes rolled back and he fell limp in Louis’s arms.

“Liam, Liam, stay with me!” Louis screamed into his little brother’s face, but all that he got in return was a thin stream of breath on his face. Liam was unconscious.

Louis ignored the tears that were now rolling freely down his face, and he picked up Liam in a cradling hold. He tried to ignore how light his brother was now, and how easy it was to hold him, like he was a bird.

Stepping over the body of the guard that had been stationed at Liam’s corner, Louis jogged out of the hut, keeping to the side of the building as he made his way to the rendezvous point. Harry buried a dagger in the chest of a man in front of him, whirling to stab another as he came up. He caught sight of Louis and whistled to Zayn, and the third member of their group slid down from a nearby roof; he’d been jumping from hut to hut while he shot. His previous vantage points were burning; Zayn had set them ablaze.

The majority of the surviving members of the Tribe were focusing their efforts on saving the burning huts from going up in smoke, and the cries of babies and children sounded from inside. Even the warriors had abandoned Louis, Harry, and Zayn in favor of saving the Tribe’s children.

All but one.

Sorren Ortensson, the burly, sharp-eyed leader of the Northern Tribe, stood in their way, flanked by two young guards with spears.

“You have something that belongs to me,” he growled, and Louis remembered the leader’s voice from when him and his parents had negotiated a treaty years ago.

“Liam never did and never will belong to you,” Zayn hissed, and he burst into motion, loosing three arrows in rapid succession. Sorren yelled in pain when he was hit in the shoulder with the barbed arrowhead, and both young guards suffered similar fates, buckling over on themselves in pain.

“Come on!” Zayn roared, and Louis shifted to reassert his grip on the limp mass that was Liam, cradling his too-thin body in strong arms. Harry ushered his husband along, allowing Louis to make a break for safety with their prize before following along, Zayn hot on his heels.

He could hear the angry, pained bellows of the leader of the Tribe, and the furious voice called for warriors to follow them. That only urged Louis to sprint faster, ignoring the burning in his throat and dashing through the undergrowth, away from the burning homes and the dead bodies and the Northern Tribe.

They ran from the village to where their horses stood loosely tethered and ready to go, whinnying desperately when they smelled the blood and fear on the boys.

Zayn gave Louis a leg up onto his horse, and Harry passed Liam’s limp body up to Liam, waiting for Louis to secure his brother to the horse before mounting his own.

Zayn’s eyes were wide with fear and worry as he looked to where Liam was tethered both to Louis and to the horse’s saddle, his head sagging forward. “We need to go,” he announced, and they spurred their horses into motion, urging them to a wild gallop.

He spoke as they rode, his voice cutting through the winter air and the fading shouts of the Northern Tribe.

“It’s a straight shot to home, two days at most if we’re going slowly. Bottom line is, we need to get Liam home and he needs medical attention. Now.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam is brought back to the Clan.

For the first time in a while, Zayn thanked his ancestors for letting their home village be open to everybody’s view. The second that they burst through the entrance and into the area, they were surrounded by the rest of the Dragon Clan.

“Zayn! Louis! Harry! You’re back!”

“Where did you go?”

“What is on the horse, _rajaku_?”

“Is that Liam?”

The voices around them were suddenly at fever pitch, babbling in recognition and in sympathy when they realized that it was indeed Liam on the horse in front of Louis. Anger began to touch the words of some of them, calling for the blood of the Northern Tribe. Elation and welcome turned without warning to fury and vengeance.

Zayn met Louis’s eyes, seeing the fear in his friend’s eyes. What was he to do? How could he calm his people and keep them from running and making decisions like he had?

“Come on, Zayn, do something about this!” Harry shouted at him above the shouts of the Clan. “You’re their leader!”

In his time away, Zayn had forgotten his status, becoming a single-minded warrior with his purpose in mind. Now, back with the Clan, he was thrust back into the mindset of a leader. He stood in the stirrups of Hantu’s saddle, raising his hands for quiet. “ _Diam!”_ he bellowed, and the crowd’s shouts trickled off into nothingness.

“Where is my mother?” Zayn asked quietly, his voice cutting through the now-silent village. “Someone get my mother, sister, and Perrie. Get all of them.”

Nobody moved. They were all openmouthed, staring in awe at their leader who had never once yelled like that.

Zayn narrowed his eyes.

“ _Now_.”

From the back of the crowd, Jaymi started to run, pushing past his friends and other villagers to head towards the healers’ homes. His shouting was heard as he went; it was loud and urgent. “ _Penyembuh! Kita membutuhkan penyembuh!”_ _Healers! We need the healers!_

Zayn dismounted from his horse, pushing past a few of his people towards Louis and his own stallion, the skittish Pencuri. “Let me help you get him down,” he called up to his friend, but Louis shook his head firmly.

“I can’t let you, Zayn. There’s no telling what you’d do,” the auburn-haired noble informed him, and Harry came up behind Zayn to pull him gently away.

“Where is he?”

Zayn turned around to see his mother, Doniya, and Perrie rushing through the crowd, Perrie’s arms laden with linen bandages. His heart lifted at the sight. Finally, they could fix Liam.

When Tricia passed Zayn, she paused briefly to offer a fierce hug to her son. “ _Anakku_ , where have you been?” she whispered into his ear, and Zayn squeezed her back before she yanked herself from his arms and ran to Louis and his steed.

“Help me get him down,” she told Louis, and together the two of them untied Liam and lowered his frail body gently to the ground and into Tricia’s waiting arms. Before the exchange was complete, Zayn’s eyes caught sight of the blood seeping through the cloth on Liam’s bony back.

What had happened to his Liam?

“Out of our way,” Perrie commanded, and the crowd parted obediently in front of the fair-faced blonde, watching as the three healers brought their leader’s broken husband out of the circle.

Zayn followed along quickly, tossing Hantu’s reins to a passing boy. He sidled his way through the quickly converging masses of people, trying to keep up with the three women. The way to the hut was long and winding, and Zayn marveled at the urgent speed of the healers as they bore Liam’s body to the hut. Tricia ducked through the doorway immediately, bringing Liam inside, and Zayn made to follow. Instead of being let in, his way was blocked by the other two young women.

“Perrie, let me go in there. I need to see him,” Zayn growled, looking towards his friend. Her eyes remained firm.

“You can’t come in,” Doniya told him firmly. “Wait outside, Zayn.”

“But–”

“ _Wait_ , Zayn.”

Zayn went and sat in the grass in front of the hut, glaring sullenly at Perrie and Doniya. “What do we do now?” he asked.

Perrie’s pale eyes ticked nervously to the darkened doorway. “We wait,” she replied simply.

*          *          *

Darkness.

Pain.

Liam blinked his eyes open, wincing when the light assaulted his eyelids. The throbbing pain behind his eyes seemed to be all-consuming, and it threatened to rip his head in two. He whimpered into the air, curling on his side and hugging the soft furs that he found there.

Furs.

Furs?

His corner didn’t have furs.

Where was he?

He rolled over on his back, screaming and arching away when his skin felt like it was burning, and he twisted to avoid the agony, but still it persisted, aggravating the stabbing in his head.

Liam curled into the fetal position, cradling his head and trying to avoid any contact that could come to his back. He whimpered into the darkness.

“Shh, Liam,” a voice suddenly soothed from the shadows, and Liam flinched, crying out at the sudden sound. He tried to scramble backwards into a corner, but he winced at the pain in his back and froze where he was.

He let out a whimper, trying to identify the source of the voice. “Sorren, I can’t today. Not today.”

“Liam, sweetie, I’m not Sorren.” The voice was distinctly female, and so, so sad. The sound of it danced on the edges of his memory, seeming to bring up a face to match but Liam was so tired, and his back hurt so much and _where was he?_

The hut was so dark, and the throbbing in his head was growing steadily and cutting off complete coherence of thought, so he just whispered, “Mum?”

The voice remained silent.

Liam looked in the direction of the shadows, crawling forward carefully towards the person that he knew was there. “Mum, is that you?” he cried, trying to reach out. He blinked at the figure in the shadows; was that his mum’s blonde-brown hair? “Mum, it hurts so much!”

“Liam,” the woman whispered, so warm and sad and loving, and Liam knew he must be dreaming because only his mother could love him so. “Liam, love, it’s okay.”

“It hurts,” Liam repeated, letting his tears fall. He felt warm arms encircle him, so soft and delicate that he felt at ease. He curled up in her embrace, feeling like a child again in his mother’s arms.

She hummed into his ear, the sound broken by a few tearful hiccups. Liam pressed his face into her shoulder, sobbing into the soft cloth there. She smelled warm and homey, like lilacs and wood smoke, but it was so subtle and nearly obscured by that sudden sense of _home_. “Love, don’t cry,” she murmured into his hair, stroking her fingers through the curls gently. “It’s okay, Liam, we’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Louis,” Liam whispered. “Mum, why did Louis come for me? He’s been gone for years, Mum.” He hugged her tighter as a revelation came to him. “Is Louis dead? Is that why you’re here too? Am I dead now?”

“No, Liam,” his mother said softly. “No, your brother is alive and well. You live with him. Don’t you remember?”

Liam shook his head, nudging his mother’s shoulder shakily. “Should I?” he asked, and she sucked in a breath.

“Do you remember Zayn, Liam?”

“Zayn?” Liam asked quietly. “Who’s that?”

For a moment, it seemed like his mother began to cry. But then her voice, quiet and soothing and _home_ , asked,

“Oh, sweetie, do you remember Sorren?”

At that, a sudden agony wracked Liam, and he was paralyzed and reacting at the same time. “No. No no no, don’t make me go back!” he screamed, crying again because he couldn’t go back to that, to whatever it was that had put burning wounds on his back and pain into his mind. “Mummy, don’t let him take me away!”

“Shhh,” she cooed into his ear, rocking him gently to calm his flailing limbs. “Liam, dear, it’s over. We won’t make you go back; it was just a question.”

“I’m so tired,” Liam whispered, “so tired, Mum.”

“Go to sleep, love,” she replied. “I’ll be here. I’m here. You can sleep.”

Liam smiled and sniffed, tears still streaming down from his eyes from the shock. His mind felt calmer now, still hurting, but it felt at peace, and he laid his head down on his mother’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

His breaths still hitched at every inhale and exhale, and he was sure that he was staining his mother’s dress. But still he shakily let himself be rocked to slumber, his weary head resting on the shoulder of his mum.

“Thank you for saving me, mum,” he murmured sleepily, letting his mind go black. “I love you.”

He was at peace.

*          *          *

Tricia Malik looked down at the sleeping boy in her arms, letting the tears finally fall unhindered from her eyes.

“Oh, Liam,” she sobbed, barely managing to keep her voice down so as not to awaken the broken prince, “Liam, I love you too.”

*          *          *

Tricia Malik emerged from the hut, and in her hands were old, bloodied bandages. Her eyes were sad and red, and tears still streamed down her face. Something terrible was in her face, from the set of her jaw to the pain in her expression.

Zayn went to her immediately, leaving the sides of Doniya and Perrie and gesturing wildly to the hut. “Mum, what happened?” A sense of dread coursed through him. “He’s not–”

“No, dear, Liam’s not dead,” Tricia told him immediately. “He’s just…he’s confused, love.”

“Why can’t I go to him?” Zayn demanded, looking from his mother to Doniya to Perrie and then back again. “Why can’t I go see him?”

“He’s weak and he needs to heal,” his mother told him gently.

Perrie looked over her shoulder towards the hut where Liam was being kept. “I don’t think that seeing you would be a good idea for him right now,” she explained. “It might trigger–”

“An episode,” Doniya finished.

Zayn raised his eyebrows. “An _episode_?” he asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Doniya looked like she was ready to send Zayn away for the next week. “It means that he could panic and possibly relapse into his previous submissive, tortured state. Didn’t you see him when you rescued him?”

“No,” Zayn muttered. “No, Louis had him; he wouldn’t let him go.”

Zayn’s older sister nodded in approval. “Remind me to send Louis a chicken for his troubles,” she said aloud, partly as an afterthought and partly to Zayn. When she looked back at her younger brother, her dark eyes were pensive. “I don’t think it’d be particularly wise to visit Liam,” she insisted. “Zayn, I know you want what’s best for Liam. And I admire and love you for that, but this is not the way to go about doing it. You have to give him time; I’d imagine that your face brings up very powerful memories for poor Liam.”

“Can you at least tell me the extent of the injuries?” Zayn begged, needing something, _anything_ , to reassure him that Liam would be okay.

Tricia’s eyes were miserable. “The physical? There are bruises all over him, a few lacerations on his face, and a possible break to some of his ribs. Then there are wounds on his lower half that indicate that he was probably raped.”

Zayn choked on his own breath, suddenly unable to hold himself up. He sank to the grass, and Perrie rushed forward to make sure that he didn’t fall. Zayn melted into the embrace of his childhood friend, staring up at his mother. “Is that it?” he croaked.

“He also has serious wounds on his back from whipping. The skin is flayed down to the muscle, Zayn. There’s only so much that I can do until nature has to do its part and let time heal the wounds.”

“Liam,” Zayn whispered, burying his head in his hands.

He’d hoped that bringing Liam back would fix everything. It was beginning to seem that this was only making life worse.

Would his Liam ever be the same?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liam learns to remember again. Zayn learns what regret feels like.

When Liam next awoke, he felt calmer and far, far more at peace. There were soft furs beneath his skin, and he pressed his face into them, inhaling a scent that was so familiar but that he still couldn’t place. Soft, delicate fingers kneaded his shoulders and neck, easing the tension from them so that the knots and pain melted away.

The fingers moved away briefly, and Liam ached for the missing touch before the fingers returned, this time dipping lower to spread across his back. He winced, whimpering a bit at the sting that flared up where the pressure was put. The pain, surprisingly, was quickly assuaged by a new feeling of coolness; there was something cold and wet and soothing being spread across his aching back.

“Hush, Liam, I’m just helping to heal the cuts,” a quiet voice cooed, sounding motherly and warm.

Liam turned his head to the side, casting his eyes back behind him to catch a glimpse of who was treating him. The hut that he was in was far brighter than it had been, thanks to the entrance of it letting in a few warm rays of light. There was a kind-face woman with dark hair next to him, kneeling by his side and rubbing cool ointment into his back. She caught him looking and paused, rocking back on her heels. “How are you feeling, love?” she asked softly.

She looked so familiar, so achingly recognizable that Liam felt bad for not immediately knowing who she was. “Confused,” he answered quietly, blinking up at her.

“Oh, love,” she murmured, and she reached out her hand. “Come on, Liam, let’s have you sit up so we can talk properly.”

Liam allowed her to pull him up slowly, sighing into her warmth when she gently took him into her arms. “I don’t…” He trailed off, letting one of his hands drop so that he could pick at the furs on the floor.

Her fingers ran through his hair slowly. “Don’t what, _adi_?” she murmured.

“Don’t know where I am. I don’t know – I feel like I should know who you are, but I just _don’t_.” He hung his head. “I just want to stop being confused.”

Sympathy seemed to thrum through this woman; she carded her fingers through his hair with infinite care. For a long while, she just hummed to him, the vibrations from her chest thrumming through Liam slowly and softly. “You’ve been through quite a lot,” she said slowly, carefully; quietly. “You’ve forgotten yourself, my Liam.”

“How much have I forgotten?” Liam whispered, muffling his voice in her shoulder as a child would.

She sighed. “Well, my Liam, we won’t know that until we figure out what you remember.”

“And how do we do that?”

“I’m going to ask you a few questions, okay?”

Liam raised his head from the comforting warmth of her shoulder, looking into warm brown eyes in a motherly, loving face. “Can I ask you a question of my own first?”

“Yes, Liam. What is it?”

Liam touched her face with a finger tentatively. “What do I call you?”

She smiled. “I’m Tricia,” she said.

“Tricia.” Liam tried the name out on his tongue, testing it out. It sat well in his mouth, like it was familiar and just out of his grasp. “Tricia.”

“Are you ready for me to ask you some things, Liam?”

Liam nodded. “Ask away, I guess.”

“Do you remember your recent years at the castle in England?”

“Of course. I remember home.”

“Okay,” Tricia encouraged. “Do you remember when the Dragon Clan came to the castle?”

“No, there hasn’t been a visit from them for ages. They’re up north.”

Tricia’s brow furrowed in worry. “Liam, you’ve forgotten _months_ of your life. Since the summer.”

Liam racked his brains, trying to pull up some memory of what he’d been missing. “How could I be forgetting all of that?”

She said, “I’m sure it’s temporary, love. It probably has something to do with what you endured afterwards.”

Liam leaned forward eagerly. “Tell me, please. I need to know.”

“Well, Liam, the Dragon Clan came to your lands. You’re aware of the pact between our rulers about the marriages to keep the peace? Yes?” She waited until Liam nodded and then reached to his bare chest, lifting the two chains there. She held up the first pendant, a series of concentric silver rings with a sapphire hanging in the center. “This is your wedding gift from your husband.”

Liam balked. “I have a husband?” How could he have forgotten something so important?

“His name is Zayn Malik, and he loves you very much,” Tricia told him gently.

“I’ve never been in love,” Liam whispered.

Tricia’s eyes softened. “You were,” she replied.

*          *          *

 “How could you possibly have been so stupid, so rash?” Yaser Malik paced across the length of the hut of the tribe’s leader. He glared at his son. “Do you have any idea how much panic you caused?”

“Father,” Zayn protested. “Father, please hear me out.”

Yaser fixed him with a cold stare. “You will not speak until I am done. You may be the leader of this tribe now, but you are still my son.”

Zayn bowed his head in obedience. “Yes, Father,” he said. Guilt coursed through him, the full weight of his disappearance coming to hit him in full force after being held back for so long by his single-minded desire to rescue Liam.

“Do you know what happened when you never came back from the field after the memorial service? Can you imagine the terror we felt when we discovered that Louis and Harry were gone too? All four of our most valuable men, and they were all missing. You, Liam, Louis, and Harry were all gone.” Yaser ran a hand through his hair. “Your mother was worried sick, the entire clan thought that you were dead, and we sent out searches.”

The shame grew stronger in Zayn, rising to color Zayn’s cheeks in burning red that he prayed his father would not see.

“Jaymi broke his arm looking for you! Your sister couldn’t eat for days because she was so devastated! Zayn, your decisions have consequences, and I need you to realize that if you are to lead this tribe.”

Yaser shook his head.  “We still had hope because your horses were gone and your supplies were packed, but after months with no contact, and the nights turning wintry, we lost it. And that was that. And then you come prancing back here.”

“Successfully,” Zayn retorted.

“Yes, you were successful, but that does not change the graveness of the situation. You ran away when there was clearly a threat, and you left no word of where you were, who you were with, or where you were going. I can’t believe you, Zayn. I taught you better.”

“Father, I’m sorry,” Zayn whispered. “I couldn’t leave Liam. Not there. Not with them.”

“Zayn,” Yaser warned.

“They whipped him, Father! They whipped him and they raped him and he doesn’t remember my name! He doesn’t remember us, our love, what we had! And it’s all because I didn’t get there fast enough to stop the trauma. Please, just. Just stop. Let this guilt be enough to punish me. I let Liam get taken, and I abandoned my tribe only to not find him in time to save him. Don’t put me through more.” Zayn wiped at the tears that he didn’t know he’d shed. “Please.”

Yaser’s hard gaze softened. “We’ll talk later,” he said finally. “Go home and get some sleep. We’ll have this conversation another time.”

“Thank you, Father,” Zayn whispered. He turned to leave the hut.

“Zayn.”

He turned.

Yaser smiled, no more than a little half-grin but it was enough. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Zayn nodded at his father, feeling his heart lift. “I’m glad I’m home,” he replied, and he ducked out of the hut.

The walk to his sleeping hut was cold and lonely. The path that he had taken Liam down on that summer night, the only time that they’d walked together. The bright torches that lined the pathway seemed harsher in the winter, like the warmth of Liam’s presence had been stolen from them. There was no heart to be found in the fire this time; the Zayn of before was long gone.

His sleeping hut – his and Liam’s – was still there, dark and wooden and small, but the thatched roof and small awning no longer looked inviting. The hut was cold and had not been lived in for some time. The life was gone from it.

He opened the door slowly, gasping when a familiar, achingly distant smell reached him. The hut had gone unlived in since that first night, and the entire structure still was perfumed with lavender and spice and the smell of Liam and Zayn and when they had been one.

Zayn fell to his knees before the doorway, pressing his hands to his eyes to get the tears to stop, but they would not obey and he sobbed, a wet heaving sound that had festered in him for too long. Now, faced with guilt and longing and the reminders of what he’d once had, Zayn cried for Liam. He cried for his clan, and for his family, and for the happiness and trust that was now shattered. He mourned the loss of what was becoming something beautiful with Liam, but now he could not even go see his husband.

And he was at fault.

He had failed to keep Liam, keep his tribe safe.

Zayn closed the door on the memories of happiness, sealing the hut once more. He was unfit to go in there, undeserving for a long while. He leaned against the wood of the door, staring out at the forest that glinted in firelight in the winter night.

It was cold outside. Zayn’s tears were chilled on his cheeks.

But inside, in _Zayn_ , it was colder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was a short chapter, but I think that it said a lot. Please feel free to comment and also drop me a line in my ask on tumblr. You can find me at whatwordscantconvey. :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion.

When Zayn woke up next, his mouth was dry and he was practically frozen. His eyelashes were stuck together, frozen tears clinging to the lashes and holding his eyes closed. Shivering violently, Zayn placed his hands to his face, letting the feeble warmth of his fingers melt the ice that kept him in darkness.

Opening his eyes was a struggle in and of itself. His lids felt weighted with fatigue, and he was still so tired. His neck ached and he was sure that he smelled rank.  Groaning as he stretched his aching limbs, he moved to a standing position, shivering and sore. His home hut sat firmly behind him, taunting him.

He hadn’t been able to sleep there. The memory of Liam was too strong to allow him to go back inside. The fears may not have led him to make the most logical of choices – he was, after all, freezing cold and miserable – but at least it did well to keep the heartache at bay somewhat.

Brushing his pants off, he made a note to find a place to sleep with one of his friends until he’d be able to go back inside the hut again. Perhaps Perrie would be willing to accommodate him.

He rolled his neck, attempting to shrug out the cramps in his aching muscles. The physical pain was the only thing that kept him anchored nowadays.

“Zayn.”

Zayn jerked in surprise, peering around the corner of his home to see Doniya walking down the path. It was not often that his sister came around, especially not to his private home. His older sister wrinkled her nose as she drew level with Zayn, casting a judgmental glance up and down his body. “This is not satisfactory,” she told him bluntly, but there was still a hint of worry in her voice; Zayn was still, after all, her little brother.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Doniya?” Zayn drawled, masking his pain behind a carefully placed expression of boredom.

“Oh, don’t even try with me,” Doniya grumbled, and she took his arm, dragging him away from the hut quickly. “We both know that you’re a mess. You’re going to come back to my tent and you’re getting changed and washed and then you’re going to face this like a leader and not a coward.”

Cowed by his older sister, Zayn nodded and slunk after Doniya down to the main village, feeling his overwhelming grief fade just a little bit behind the feeling of purpose.

*          *          *

Tricia had finished rubbing salve into the wounds on his back, and Liam was feeling pleasantly warm, the ache of the whipping scars disappearing into a mild twinge. He could learn to live with that; it wasn’t so bad.

Humming as she worked, Liam’s caretaker folded garments and placed them beside herself, each shirt lovingly held. They would be given to Liam once his wounds had healed enough to let him wear fabrics on his back, and they looked quite soft. Liam looked forward to the point when he could feel semi normal again.

“You need to cut your hair, my love,” she observed, the lilt in her voice so clearly showing her Clan origins.

Liam reached a hand up and ran his fingers through his own hair. Tricia was right; his locks had grown wild and long, let loose to turn into curls. “I don’t know. I feel like I kind of like it this way.”

Tricia shrugged. “As long as you let me at least trim it, dear, I’m fine.” She set a pile of shirts aside, beginning her work on fixing a torn slipper.

For another long while, the two of them sat in amiable silence.

“Who’s the one that’s always outside?” Liam stared out of the narrow opening of the hut, searching for the young man that had so captivated his attentions.

Tricia looked up in surprise. “And why are you asking?”

“Isn’t simple curiosity enough, Tricia? He’s beautiful.” And he was. Liam had glimpsed him from time to time as he rested and healed in the isolated sanctuary of the hut. He never came inside, the young man, but he was nearly always there, just waiting and watching. Occasionally, he’d be talking to Perrie, one of the other two women that helped Tricia take care of him, but usually he was alone.

Liam didn’t know what it was about him that made him so captivating. Somehow, he felt a phantom yearning for the young man, a feeling that he couldn’t explain if he tried. “Tricia, what’s his name? Please, please tell me his name.”

“Liam…” Tricia began, but Liam fixed her with a plaintive look that was almost guaranteed to work on the older woman.

“What’s the harm in knowing someone’s identity, Tricia?”

Tricia sighed, shaking her head. She asked, “Do you really want to know?”

Liam nodded eagerly. “Please, Tricia.”

The mother figure to Liam smiled weakly, then looked back out at the exterior, into the village. The boy sat there still, quiet as always. His hair was disheveled today, and he looked down at the frost-bitten ground between his feet. “That’s my boy,” Tricia finally said. “That’s my Zayn.”

The name sent off a thousand bursts in Liam’s head. He looked at the boy intently, and suddenly he _knew_.

“Does he have bright eyes, like amber? Like he could see to your soul if he tried hard enough?”

Tricia turned to him, her eyes alight with hope. “Yes, my sweet, he does.”

“Is he my Zayn? The Zayn that loves me?”

 “With all his heart.” Tricia bit her lip, tears of anticipation welling in her eyes.

Liam crawled forward towards the opening of the hut, ignoring Tricia’s half-hearted warnings. He held aside the flap of furs that covered the doorway, getting a better look at the boy, at Zayn, the person that suddenly made so much more sense.

_Zayn._

Remembering the warmth that had once filled his heart, he called out, his heart and voice ringing in the chill morning air.

“Zayn!”

*          *          *

Zayn snapped his head up at the sound, at the voice that he could mistake for no other, one that he’d known only for a short time before it had been stolen from him.

_Liam_.

His hair was long and overgrown, but at least it was clean and not matted with filth as it had been when they’d rescued him. His eyes were sunken and darkened, but for just a moment, Zayn saw a beautiful light in them.

“Liam!” he cried, and he could not recall a time when he had been more elated. Liam remembered him; it would be okay.

He got up, running at Liam, feet flying across frost-bitten turf. His mind was focused only on that tentative smile, that voice calling his name for the first time in months.

Zayn fell to his knees in front of Liam, wanting to fiercely embrace every inch of him, but instead he took him gently, holding him with all of the softness he would use for a babe. Liam’s body melted into him, small and thin and shaking just a bit.

Together.

“Liam,” Zayn repeated, over and over again, trying to convince himself that this was not one of his nightmares where Liam was taken away again, that this was real and Liam was in his arms.

 “Zayn,” Liam echoed, and his voice cracked on sudden tears. He buried his head in Zayn’s chest, curling a fist in the fabric of his shirt. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, great sobs tearing from a weak body.

“ _Cintaku, cintaku,”_ Zayn whispered into Liam’s hair, running his fingers gently through the long, sandy strands. _My love, my love._

“Zayn,” Liam choked, and this was surely the most heartbreaking sound he had ever heard, the sound of his beautiful Liam being torn down.

“I’m here, Liam,” Zayn murmured. “I’m here.”

Liam sobbed in his arms, curling himself up against Zayn’s body, his bony body light and frail and shaking. “I remember,” he choked. “I remember everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize immensely for this, and I have never felt more guilty. School has hit me like a train, and I'm just trying to find time to squeeze in any writing. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I can have another chapter posted next weekend, because my life will really slow down into a comfortable pace then (I've been getting ready for a national tournament at Yale). 
> 
> This chapter is pretty short because I split the longer chapter up in hopes of making faster updates.
> 
> Love to you all!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remembrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I have no excuse. I am so so sorry to all of you who follow this story; if any of you are still out there, here it is! Chapters will be pretty short from now on.

“Okay, so you know Zayn.” Tricia was still glowing with happiness, despite the scolding that she’d given Liam for poking his head around in the cold. Zayn had been forced to leave as soon as Liam had stopped crying, due to Tricia wanting to talk to the boy alone. After much protesting, Zayn had allowed himself to be led away by his sister and Perrie.

But not without first kissing Liam’s forehead, so tenderly.

Liam had enjoyed that.

“I think that it’s about the time when you start answering some questions. As soon as we unblock the bad things, the rest of the good things from before will surely come back. You’ve just tried to shut out everything, and you ended up knocking every other memory out of play in the process.” Tricia looked to him for affirmation, folding the last of Liam’s new clothing and putting it in the corner.

“Liam, love, when I was cleaning you up, I found some very conspicuous things,” Tricia began gently. “Can I ask about them?”

Liam nodded warily and hugged the warm pillow towards his chest, trying to warm his body even though it was cozy and hot in the hut. “You can,” he said quietly, surprised at how small his voice was.

“Can we have Yaser in here with us?” She made a small motion with her hand, and an older man stepped into the hut, his dark eyes flashing amber that was a few shades darker than the familiar color of Zayn’s eyes. “He needs to know for…political reasons.”

Liam looked up at him steadily for a moment, studying the older man. He hadn’t seen a male other than Zayn since returning from his captivity, and the presence made him feel apprehensive. He shifted slightly in his seat, grounding himself with the pillow. Yaser’s dark eyes betrayed no ill intentions, not like the others before. “It’s no problem,” he finally said. “If it helps the Clan, then I don’t see why not.”

“Such a good boy,” Tricia murmured, “caring so much about your people. You’re a born leader, Liam.”

Liam smiled at her softly for a moment, and she touched his cheek briefly before Yaser cleared his throat softly.

The former Clan leader locked eyes with Liam, his gaze direct and professional. “So we both know about the wounds on your back.” Liam nodded at that. “Can you explain to me how you got them?”

He screwed his eyes shut suddenly, wincing at the phantom feel of the whip. “It was a man called Antioch. Whenever I was bad, I was punished.” He swallowed. “Publicly. They laughed.”

Tricia’s eyes were pained and wide when he looked back at her. “And why did they punish you?”

“For not giving them what they wanted. For being insubordinate.”

“What did they want of you, Liam?”

Liam turned his gaze to Yaser, spilling his words out bluntly. “Me. My body. Sex. I was used, Yaser. Many times over. They took me and raped me over and over and if I wanted to live, I had to lay there and take it. That’s the reality of it.” He looked down at his hands, feeling his breath hitch and grow shaky in his chest, the air coming shorter. “After a while, I think that I considered just finding a way to end it.”

“Liam…” Tricia’s voice, distressed and horrified, reached him distantly.

He shook his head quickly, too far gone to stop. “The first night that they had me, they stripped me…in front of everyone. And then they- each of them, one by one, they – they –” He stopped, shaking, screwing his eyes shut. 

He remembered it, the humiliation and the pain, the _pain_ _pain PAIN_ -

Distantly, foggily, he heard Tricia yell, “We need somebody!”

*          *          *

Zayn heard his mother’s yell and frowned, looking up from his hands. He still sat outside of the medical hut where his mother and sisters worked, sullenly cursing them for kicking him out. But this was something new, something that sent a shiver of foreboding down his spine.

“We need somebody,” Tricia told Perrie anxiously when the pale-haired girl rushed over at her call. “Someone he knows.”

Zayn stood up at once, moving towards the hut, but Perrie held up her hand firmly. “Not you, Zayn. We need Louis.”

“But–”

“Zayn,” Perrie interrupted. “No.” She fixed him with a stern blue glare before she dashed off through the village.

Distressed, Zayn tugged at the strands of his hair. Behind him, another person cleared his throat, and Zayn whirled to see Harry frowning solemnly. “What?” Zayn demanded.

Harry straightened a wrinkle on the fringe of his black tunic, seemingly with all the time in the world. “She’s right, you know,” he said. “She knows what she’s doing, Zayn. She’s a healer, just like your mother and sisters. You may be the leader of the tribe, but you don’t always know what’s best. Especially in the case of someone who’s been through as much as Liam has.”

“But Liam remembers me. Liam _knows_ I can’t hurt him.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you entirely sure of that? Because it’s been months since you’ve even talked. Louis is Liam’s best bet.”

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “So where is Louis, then? You seem to always know, him being your husband and all.”

“He’s out hunting with my family,” Harry replied easily, and a flash of generosity flickered across his face. “Perrie won’t find him.”

“You knew that, and you still yelled at me?” Zayn growled, but optimism grew in the pit of his stomach.

His friend shrugged. “I just wanted you to understand that your way isn’t always the best way. You left the tribe without a leader for months. Just remember that you’re not always right.” He bent and picked up the bow and quiver that Zayn hadn’t noticed that he’d brought, shouldering the quiver with ease. “Don’t push Liam too hard, Zayn. You won’t like what happens if he breaks.”

Zayn nodded. “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry offered him a smile. “I just want you to be happy.” With that, he turned and trotted off to where his long-legged mare waited, vaulting onto her back with the ease only a man of the Dragon Clan could have. He disappeared between the huts of the village just as Perrie emerged from them, her tunic and hair flapping in the wind.

“I can’t find him,” Perrie panted frantically, her hands running nervously through her hair.

Zayn went towards the hut. “Let me go in, then.”

Perrie jumped in front of him, barring his path with her body. “You can’t. It’s not safe for him to be around you.”

“He recognized me!” Zayn protested. “He called to me today! He was fine when we met again! Clearly he knows that I pose no threat!”

“Nonetheless, I think that it’s unwise in the state that he’s in now. He’s not coherent right now, Zayn. The circumstances are all different.”

"I hope it is perfectly understood that I am the leader of this tribe, Perrie," Zayn growled, using the full advantage of his height to glare down at the blonde. "And in there," he pointed to the hut, "is my husband. In case you haven't noticed, I left this tribe for _months_ to get him back. I am not about to let you keep me from him any longer when he clearly needs someone."

Perrie looked taken aback, her eyes stricken. This was a side of Zayn not often seen. "You have to understand the risks," she protested. "He could fall back into his old memories of his captivity or just go back to his previous childlike state. We need his brother, someone associated with good memories."

Zayn furrowed his brow. "And you mean to say that his time with me in the Clan, however short, was bad? I think you are being far too paranoid with this." He put his hand on Perrie's shoulder. "Is the caution really worth the result? Haven't you always told me that the higher the risk is, the more the reward will be?" He poured all of his grief and sorrow into his words, holding tightly to his childhood friend. "Please, Perrie," he pleaded, "let me go comfort him. He will recognize me, I promise."

Her blue eyes were full of doubt. "Zayn..." she murmured.

"Please, Perrie. You need to trust me."

Perrie frowned. “I…”

“Let him in.”

The two of them turned to see Zayn’s mother wringing her hands anxiously. “Come in, Zayn. But for his sake, be _gentle._ ”

Zayn nodded his thanks, placing a hand on Perrie’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I’m sorry for being so…aggressive.”

Perrie pushed him towards his mother. “It’s okay; we can talk later. Go help your husband.”

Zayn ducked past the furs into the hut, taking in the scene before him. Liam was curled up on a bed of furs in the corner, and Zayn’s father was looking on anxiously. Zayn felt his mother enter the room behind him. “Could you…leave us alone?” he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving Liam. Liam, who was all angles and curls and pain. “Please. It’ll be easier with less people around.”

“Of course.” His parents got up and left in a rustle of furs.

Once he was sure they were gone, Zayn crouched and moved towards his husband, keeping a careful distance. “Liam,” he called quietly.

Liam jerked his head up, panicked eyes fixing on him with fearful anxiety. “No!” he hissed. “No, no, not again, never again.” He shook his head fiercely. “They did this, they _raped_ me, they did this. _Why did they do this_?” His eyes were wild, dark brown alive with fevered intensity.

“Liam,” Zayn murmured, gently reaching out to touch Liam’s arm, pushing down the cold fury that rose in him at the revelation of the truth of Liam’s torture. “Liam, it’s okay. It’s Zayn.”

“Zayn…” Liam repeated, wide eyes staring without recognition at his face. “They…they did _this_ to me.”

“And I’ll kill them all,” Zayn swore. “And I’ll kill them all over again until both of us are satisfied. But you need to get better, Liam. You’re stronger than this. You are!”

“I want to be,” Liam said, eyes still terrifyingly blank. “I _can’t_.” His voice cracked a bit on the last word, the sound slicing into Zayn.

“Listen to me,” Zayn said, his voice going low and serious. “Liam, you are a prince. You are a prince and a warrior and your name is Liam Payne. You were the prince of England and then you married me, Zayn Malik of the Dragon Clan. You’re home now, and you are the leader of the fiercest tribe in the known world. The _strongest_. I know you are strong, Liam. Remember who you are.”

 “I’m Liam,” Liam echoed.

Zayn reached out slowly and caught the dangling necklaces that hung from Liam’s neck, swaying with Liam’s motions. “You still have your necklaces.”

Liam looked down, watching the trinkets glitter in Zayn’s hold. “They were the only things they let me keep,” he said softly.

Zayn closed his fist around the necklaces, taking Liam’s limp hand and placing it on top of his closed fingers. “Remember this. These necklaces tell you everything you need to know. They never took these from you; this is what you need to hold on to. Remember this. Remember Liam.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery.

They finally let Liam out in midwinter.

It was just for a small walk, a bit of exercise to bring life and flesh back into his body and to coat his bones. But it was a fairly public event; the entire Clan had been notified beforehand so that the atmosphere would be quiet and peaceful for the traumatized Clan leader.

When Zayn went to his mother's hut to fetch Liam, his husband was standing up against the back wall, looking down blankly as Tricia straightened the hem of his tunic. His sandy curls, now clean and trimmed to be less wild, hung over his eyes and shadowed them. He looked up when Zayn walked in, a small smile gracing his features. "Zayn," he murmured, and for a moment his eyes sparkled. Then the look was gone from him and his eyes turned dull brown again. Zayn’s heart ached for him.

“Hello, Liam,” Zayn said softly. “It’s time to go out. Are you ready?”

Liam nodded once, barely perceptible but that was the consent that Zayn needed. “C’mon, then,” he encouraged, and he stretched out a hand. Liam flinched at the movement, ducking away with a twitch of his shoulders. Zayn tried to ignore it.

When Liam did finally move towards him, it was on shaky legs that hadn’t been worked in months. Zayn stopped him, lightly supporting his shoulders as Liam swayed. “You need a cloak,” he reminded his husband, and Tricia reached over to hand him a red one, not too bright, just a soft, warm color that swallowed up Liam’s thin frame and made him look taller. His skin looked tanner, and his long lean body seemed lithe and fit in his soft black linen tunic. For a moment, to Zayn, Liam looked like the prince that Zayn had known, if only briefly. And then the flash passed, and what Zayn saw was a man of the Dragon Clan, broken and silent but still more regal than any other man that he’d ever met.

“What are you looking at?” Liam asked suddenly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Certainly not me.”

“Always you,” Zayn swore. “Come on, Liam, they’re dying to see you.” He offered his arm to Liam, an invitation, not a command, and he was pleased when Liam took it, placing some weight on his arm, holding himself up. He led Liam from the hut and into the crisp cold air of their home.

The Clan was watching.

All of them, from the grandmothers to the sons and daughters of their children’s children, they were all there, spread out through the corridors of homes that fanned out from the medical hut. They stayed at a respectful distance, but all the same, they were there and Zayn felt Liam freeze beside him.

“Are you okay?” he asked under his breath, lips close to Liam’s ear.

Liam swallowed and nodded. “Reminds me of how they used to watch,” was all he gave in explanation.

“They’re not here anymore,” Zayn promised. “You will never come to harm here.” He led Liam down the steps from the hut. As soon as they reached the bottom, Louis appeared at Liam’s other side, wearing a soft smile and softer furs.

Liam’s eyes widened happily. “Lou,” he murmured, and he pressed up against his brother’s body. Louis smiled wider and pressed a soft kiss to Liam’s hair, staring at Zayn over Liam’s head.

“How are you feeling today, little brother?” Louis asked softly, and Liam shrugged, which was more than either of them could hope for. “Ready to go for a walk?”

“I know how to walk,” Liam grumbled, but he let Louis place a steadying hand on the small of his back regardless. The steps that he took were tentative and small, and maybe Zayn was just seeing things, but with each stride, Liam seemed to hold his head a little higher.

The medical hut disappeared behind them, swallowed up by bodies. A horse nickered when they passed, and Liam flinched at the sound but went on, his jaw set in a scowl.

“Do you see the community hut over there?” Louis ventured, pointing at the great wooden structure. “We padded the inside _and_ the outside with furs. It took a lot of hunting...admittedly, we’ve used horse skins from the ones that couldn’t stand the cold, but it’s comfortable nonetheless. Our prey, our predators, and our mounts, working together to help us.”

“Very nice,” Liam replied politely, and Louis’s grin turned to a disappointed frown, and he cast his eyes down, bright blue alight with hurt.

Zayn murmured, “Don’t blame him for trying,” and he wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to, and clearly neither did his companions, because the two brothers nodded and cast their heads down in acknowledgement, cheeks ruddier than usual.

“ _Lemah_ ,” a warrior muttered to his friend as they walked past, but he bowed his head all the same. _Weak, weak_.

Zayn fixed him with a glare that he wished would set the man ablaze. “Go make yourself useful and gather a hunting party. Now.” The man looked stricken at having been caught, eyes quickly downcast and remorseful. He took his friend by the arm and they hurried away, snatches of frustrated conversation trailing behind them like breadcrumbs.

Liam’s eyes were sad and empty, following the retreat of the warriors. “Can we go back inside now?”

Zayn and Louis shared a glance over Liam’s head. They’d forgotten that Liam had learned a small amount of Terkutuk before he’d been taken. “Yes, love,” Zayn murmured, and they turned back the way that they had come, beginning the trek back through the stares and the whispers.

The snow melted on the crown of Liam’s head, trickling down his cheeks in rivulets that might have been tears on another day.

***

Zayn was permitted to sleep in the same hut as Liam from then on. They weren’t sure that Liam was ready to go as far off from the center of the camp as Zayn’s hut was, but there was a small, cozy one-room structure that served just well for the two of them. The walls were snug around them, the door layered with warm furs that kept the chill of the winter air away from them. It was a stepping stone, Perrie had said, something to help Liam back on his path to independence.

Zayn stripped his tunic from his chest, sweaty after a day of sparring with Harry. He reached for the softer linens that he wore to bed, tugging them up and over his head. “Aren’t you going to get changed?” he prompted Liam, seeing his husband sitting quietly next to a lantern, poring over a thick book that Yaser had given to him.

Liam looked up with a start and a soft smile. “I’m comfortable like this, thanks,” he replied, “but thanks anyway.”

“What?” Zayn teased. “Do you not want to show off your skin?”

When Liam dropped his eyes to his book, cheeks blushing red, Zayn knew his mistake. He crouched and crawled his way over to where Liam was sitting, trying to make himself not appear big or threatening. “Liam, I’m your husband. I love you, and you know that I wouldn’t hate you for anything. It’s been months since I’ve properly seen you.”

Liam kept his eyes down. “Maybe that’s for the best,” he replied quietly.

“Liam,” Zayn murmured, raising his hand to Liam’s cheek. A pang of misery stabbed through him when Liam flinched at the touch. “Liam, don’t shut me out. Not now.”

The younger boy shook his head. “You’re not going to like it. You’re not going to like me.”

Zayn shook his head vehemently, furrowing his brow. “Now, you know that’s not true,” he swore. “Liam, I couldn’t just stop liking you because of something on your skin.”

“You might,” Liam said softly, but he raised his shirt all the same.

There were scars on his back now, deep ugly scars that slashed in raised red lines across his shoulders. The skin was still scabbed and tender, like the wounds were fresh.

An angel ruined.

“Liam, oh, _Liam_ ,” Zayn whispered, and he felt it all breaking down again, his composure slipping yet again. Too weak, too human, not how a leader should be. “What did they do to you?”

Liam shifted out of Zayn’s reach, not turning to meet Zayn’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it, Zayn. Not now. All I want is to sleep.”

Zayn bit his lip, mourning for the wreck that their relationship, though short, had become. The Liam he had known had been bright and curious and alive. This Liam was distant and small and weak, and Zayn didn’t know what to do.  “Come here,” he begged softly. “Liam, you know I won’t hurt you. I never could. Never. Not in a million years.”

Liam paused, eyes dark and pained, a cornered animal, wary and tense. But the worry bled out of him slowly, trickling like molasses from his muscles, and he made his way over to Zayn, dropping his shirt down as he went. Zayn sat quietly in the warm furs, letting Liam take his time. When Liam

Zayn pressed his nose into Liam's hair. He smelled like home again, and all of his wounds had been treated, but Zayn knew that Liam was still missing.

He still smiled with a full set of teeth and held Zayn's hands in his own, but the smiles no longer reached his hollow eyes and his hand fidgeted in Zayn's, pressing closer only to pull away again. Fear ruled Liam now; it had killed the boy that Zayn had fallen in love with in the span of a summer's short week when they’d met. Now it was the dead of winter and the light was gone from his Liam.

“What happened to you, love?” he murmured. “My Liam.”

Liam sniffed, and a few warm tears ran down to wet Zayn’s fingers.

"We can fix you, Liam," he whispered, rocking the boy that had been a prince. He was so frail, curled up like a child in Zayn's arms. It was so heartbreaking for Zayn, seeing his beautiful prince, his sweet Liam, so broken.

Liam had to be asleep by now; his even breathing betrayed him. Zayn lowered him down into the thickest portion of the furs, trying to assuage any pain that may ail Liam. He stared down at Liam under the dim light of the oil lamp, eyes tracing the now-sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

He whispered it again, but this time as more of a promise to himself, this one not to be broken.

"I swear to god, we will fix you, Liam."

***

The snow was beautiful at this time of year.

It fell in wild, unpredictable flurries, time passing in clumps and jumps when there was no way to see the sun behind the gray, gray clouds. Inside their little hut, the air was warm and bright, lit by two softly burning lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Sometimes, Zayn would take him out on walks, covering more and more distance each day. Once, he’d taken Liam to a snow-kissed range and they’d spent a clear afternoon shooting arrow after arrow into targets, returning to their home with apple-red cheeks and high spirits.

Zayn burst into the hut suddenly, his eyes concerned. But then he spotted Liam and the tightness of his shoulders eased. “You’re fine,” he said.

Liam raised an eyebrow. “I am.”

His husband’s cheeks flushed. “I was just...you were going to meet me at the range again. You didn’t show up, and I was worried that-”

“I know what you were worried about,” Liam interrupted gently. “I’m sorry; Safaa came around and she’s been giving me more lessons, and we lost track of the time. You just missed her.”

“Oh.” Zayn sat down on the soft furs of the hut, an embarrassed smile gracing his angular features. “I just...panicked.”

“I’m sorry.” Liam felt a rush of love for Zayn, warming the forgotten spot in his heart that had been abandoned during his captivity.

“I just can’t believe you’re safe,” Zayn breathed.

“I am, though,” Liam murmured. “And you have me.” He let out a breath of his own, shaky because this beautiful dream couldn’t be true.

“Let me avenge you,” Zayn begged, a fight brewing in his eyes. “I need to teach them that they cannot touch you.”

"I don't need you to get revenge for what happened, Zayn," Liam insisted, and he suddenly felt very small, very insignificant and too vulnerable next to wrathful Zayn. "What I need is to be held."

Zayn's angry amber eyes suddenly softened, coming back into focus on Liam. "Liam..." he began.

"No, Zayn," Liam interrupted. "Revenge can wait. They're not going anywhere. Can we please just stay here, forget the world? I don't want to face anyone right now, Zayn. I just...I just want you. I want your love."

And Zayn nodded, folding Liam into his body like he was always meant to be here. “You’re safe,” he promised. “I love you. I love you.”

For once, the nightmares did not come.

***

Zayn pressed his fingers lightly to Liam’s shoulder, trailing up his neck to card his fingers through the long curls that graced Liam’s head. “Liam,” he murmured, tapping a rhythm into the space behind Liam’s ear. The smaller boy muttered annoyedly at him, trying to shake him off. “C’mon, Liam,” Zayn singsonged, “I have a surprise for you.”

Liam’s eyes finally opened, glinting with sleep. “What is it?” he asked finally, an indulgent smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Get dressed and I’ll show you,” Zayn teased.

When he and Liam emerged, squinting against the glare of sun on snow, the sun had barely risen and the air was crisp and cold. A few stray snowflakes still drifted to the ground, but the sky was mostly clear. Liam had been bundled up in a thick red woolen tunic and equally warm brown breeches beneath. A brown cloak was slung about his shoulders, and the snow fell and melted in his hair, glistening as it went. He was a vision, and he looked healthier, his cheeks possessing a warm red glow.

“Come with me,” Zayn whispered. “You can trust me, Liam.”

“Where are we going?” Liam asked quietly, his voice cautious. “Zayn, I don’t really want to leave–”

Zayn stopped and put a finger to Liam’s lips. “It’s not far at all, and we’ll have two guards waiting at the entrance. We’ll be fine. Look, here are Louis and Harry now.” He gently turned Liam’s head to see the two grinning warriors waiting with spears and bows in hand. “They’re going to follow along and make sure that nothing happens, okay?”

Liam waved shyly to his elder brother and his tall, smiling husband. Zayn knew that he wanted to be strong for them, to explore and become strong again, like the prince that he had been. “How are we going to get there?”

“By horse, of course,” Zayn chuckled, and he took Liam’s hand and led him through a path that someone had forged through the high drifts of snow that had fallen in the past few days. Their home city was quiet, muted in the wake of the snowfall. It was tranquil, and Liam’s dark eyes burned brightly, at peace for once.

When they came upon the horseyard, Harry and Louis in tow, Liam gave a shout and ran the rest of the way there. From beyond the undergrowth, there was a great whinny and all Zayn could hear was Liam’s laughing. He jogged the rest of the way into the field and there was Liam, butting heads with his great gray stallion, his Storm. His eyes were screwed shut, tears leaking from the corners, but his lips were bursting with a smile. He turned to face Zayn, his eyes alight. “Thank you,” he breathed, “for taking care of him.”

“It was all I could do,” Zayn replied, shrugging. He went over to where Hantu was tied, and the horse nickered in welcome. The great stallion had stayed warm and comfortable, thanks to the great wooden structure that sheltered the horseyard during the winter. It was nothing even close to the caliber of the English royal stables, but it was what was familiar and it felt like home. He quickly saddled Hantu, watching out of the corner of his eye as Liam did the same, moving with practiced movements. When he swung himself into the saddle, he saw that Harry had mounted his silver and Louis was reining his antsy chestnut in circles. Liam trotted up beside him, seeming at home on the back of his stallion.

“Shall we?” he invited. “I’d lead the way, but I haven’t the faintest idea where we’re going.”

Zayn grinned and led the way out of the horseyard, letting Hantu forge through low snowdrifts and away from the warm, dim lights of the Dragon Clan’s capital. Liam followed close behind, with Harry and Louis pulling up the rear. The trees got thicker and eventually swallowed them up, immersing them in the dappled shadows from the barely visible sun.

The quiet stretched on and on, broken by the snorts of the horses and the soothing rhythm of hooves breaking ice and snow. They came upon a great stone outcropping without too much trouble, one that stood on the far end of a clearing. Near the entrance, the snow had melted away, revealing fledgling blades of green grass in the midst of the winter. Zayn dismounted, and Liam did the same, their horses pawing at the ground but staying put. Zayn took Liam’s hand and pulled him towards the rocks, heading towards a great gray maw in a cleft between the rocks. He stepped through, gesturing to Liam to follow.

Inside the cave, the air was warm and wet. Zayn pushed back the hood of his cloak, breathing in the hot, metallic air. Beyond them stretched a great stone cavern, with steam rising steadily from its depths. Water flowed from cracks in the walls; some were mere trickles, and others were torrents. Zayn knew that there was a great central waterfall deeper in the caverns, but he stayed put, turning to see Liam’s reaction.

His husband’s lips were parted in awe, and his hood had fallen from his head. His hair tumbled down towards his shoulder, strands haloed by the sunlight that shone in through the holes that criscrossed the ceiling. “It’s amazing!” he exclaimed, and he stepped further in, eyes wide and curious.

“These are the Time Fountains,” Zayn murmured into the shell of Liam’s ear. “They’re natural springs and our ancestors carved the surrounding rocks so that the water would flow with fluidity and ease.”

He pointed to the glyphs that were carved deep into the rocks, their edges rounded by generations of water. “Do you want to know what that says?”

Liam pressed closer to Zayn’s side, and he hummed an affirmation.

Zayn picked out a row of glyphs that he deemed acceptable for Liam to hear. “See that one there? It means ‘music is in our souls’.” He looked to Liam. “What do you think?”

“Music has always been quite beautiful,” Liam whispered, just barely audible over the distant rush of the main waterfall. “I used to sing with the choir back home.” A touch of pain entered his words then, and Zayn saw that tears were shining brightly in his eyes. “Mum and Dad always encouraged me.”

Zayn fiddled with the necklaces that hung at his throat, the dark silver of the English pendant clinking against Liam’s wedding gift to him. “Would you like to talk about it?” he asked quietly, waiting for Liam’s response.

For a long while, Liam remained silent, staring over the cave of messages, tears appearing in his eyes only to be hastily scrubbed away, over and over again. His breathing was quiet but deep. Peaceful.

“Did you ever open the pendant, Zayn?” Liam asked softly, and for a moment Zayn didn’t know what the smaller boy was talking about. Then he looked down and saw the necklace from the English monarchs held tightly in Liam’s hand. Zayn looked down at his own, tugging his chains from beneath his shirt.

“No,” he said, the answer striking him. “I haven’t.”

“Do it,” Liam urged.

Zayn lifted the pendant up and stuck his thumbnail between the two silver doors, prying them open with a soft click that echoed faintly across the caverns. Inside were two small paintings, done in painstaking detail. One was familiar; it was his own father, but the other showed a soft-eyed woman with a delicate silver circlet around her head.

“That’s my mother,” Liam said. “Mine and Louis’s and Niall’s. Here, I have a match.” He opened his own pendant as well, holding it up beside Zayn’s. There was the old king, Liam’s father, with a stern face and kind eyes. The second painting was bright and beautiful, depicting Zayn’s mother back when she had been the highest of royalty in the Clan. All four of the paintings showed an air of regal pride that was tangible even now, even with Liam’s parents gone to their graves.

“To remind us of our roots,” Liam told him, “and to remind us that our strength is shared, from mothers and fathers, from both kingdoms. Unity, with the two of us sharing our strength to unite the Dragon Clan just as my brother and Josh united England.” He smiled softly down at the pendant, turning it over in his hands, running a finger over his father’s face. “Every night back in Sorren’s possession, before I slept, I’d look at the faces. And I know that they would have been strong. So I was too.”

Zayn grinned at that. “Aye,” he murmured. “They would’ve.”

“I think it’s high time that I got that tattoo that everyone has been talking about.” Liam’s eyes were faraway, blissful, staring into the water far, far below. “Soon.”

“This seems sudden,” Zayn murmured. “Are you sure?”

Liam shrugged. “It seems like a good place to start healing. I don’t want to be the Prince of England; I don’t want to be the Northern Tribe’s whore. I want to be your husband and a leader of the Dragon Clan, as I was sent to be.” He smiled faintly, softly, and that was when Zayn saw his eyes truly sparkle again. “You said we could fix this. It’s time to begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guys, this is the final chapter. Yes, there'll be an epilogue (fun fact: I had finished the epilogue after I wrote the second chapter; it was just a matter of filling in the spaces!) that should be coming soon.
> 
> I love all of you guys, and thanks SO much for being so patient with me, because I'm horrible.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at whatwordscantconvey and drop me a line; tell me what you think!


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The finale.

The castle was soaring, a great gray masterpiece of stone and mortar. It was resplendent in the bright colors of England, the banners side by side with the blazing red, yellow, and black of the Dragon Clan.

Liam Payne was now a legend. Now strong, now with hair shorn short, with strongly veined arms tattooed with four arrows, one for every arrow that he had sunk deep into the heart of Sorren of the Northern Tribe. He was the leader’s beloved, the one thing other than the tribe worth fighting for. Too many people had crossed Zayn to get to Liam and had lost. The ones that had gotten anywhere near Liam were dispatched by Liam personally.

The name of Liam Payne was well known in the tribes that surrounded the lands of the Clan, and most of the known world knew of his power. He was always Liam Payne, beloved of the leader; Liam Payne, the man with the scarred back and dark tattoos. He was Liam Payne, the man who was never king.

And yet, he was so much more than what he might have been.

Liam held on tightly to the hand of his daughter, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. They stood outside the grand double doors of the royal palace of England, awaiting entry to the throne room. While Zayn murmured comfortingly to their daughter, Liam let his eyes wander around the once-familiar features of his childhood home. The soaring ceilings and rich trappings of metal and silk were uncomfortably stiff-looking, far cry from the cozy warmth of the Clan’s villages. The lords and ladies of England that had already gathered for the impending wedding looked at him curiously from the corners of the foyer, whispering what were surely questions and rumors.

Two knights approached him, clad in the ungainly metal armor of the English. They bowed their heads in respect to Zayn and Liam’s status. “Lord Malik, Lord Payne, the kings will see you now."

Zayn stood and straightened, having been bent to their daughter’s level, looking over her head at Liam. “Ready, love?” he asked, affection ever present in his voice. There was that worry for Liam’s wellbeing in his question, a concern that was rightly placed. The previous night, Liam had voiced his apprehension about seeing his birth family for the first time since he’d married Zayn.

He smiled at Zayn, then down at his dark-haired daughter. “And you, my dear?” he asked warmly.

“I’ll be fine, Papa.” Her name was Adi, and she was their daughter by politics only. As the orphan daughter of one of Zayn’s best friends that had died two years after Adi’s birth, she was a noble that could be married off to Liam’s English family without the risk of inbreeding between families. “I’m just nervous.”

Liam squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I was too, love. Your father and I are so proud of you for being so brave.” She offered him a radiant smile before the herald on the other side of the doors cried, “Presenting Lord Liam Payne, Lord Zayn Malik, and Lady Adi Riach of the Dragon Clan!” The doors opened wide, allowing the throne room to burst into view in its full glory. The familiar chandeliers sparkled from the ceiling, and three figures stood in wait at the end of the aisle that led to the thrones. There, Liam’s younger brother stood regally in formal scarlet breeches and a white shirt, a broadsword belted at his waist. Niall’s natural dark hair had been allowed to stay that way, tousled into a rough approximation of a somewhat civilized hairstyle. The golden crown of the kingdom rested on his head, gleaming like it was meant to be there. His face was a bit more angular now, the adolescent roundness of his face having finally melted off, and it left striking cheekbones below his bright blue eyes. Josh was much the same; his dark hair was left at an acceptable length and his face had aged well, all angles and dark eyes. Liam could see the outlines of his old Clan tattoos showing through the fine white fabric of his shirt.

Liam allowed his eyes to travel to Adi’s husband-to-be, taking in the lanky stature and nervous gray-blue eyes that could only belong to a member of their family. Surely he was the son of Greg, their youngest brother. Liam looked up to the boy’s sandy brown hair where a silver circlet rested. It brought an aching pang of familiarity to see that it was the crown that he had worn when he was a prince.

“Niall,” he murmured, looking back to the king. He dipped his head, not out of deference, but emotion instead. They were equals.

Niall’s pale eyes gleamed. “Liam.” His voice was so different, so much deeper and more mature.

Liam grinned. “It’s been a while, brother. Too long.” He closed the final distance between them and pulled Niall into a hug. Even years later, Niall still smelled like wood smoke and clean soap. “Too long,” he repeated into Niall’s scruff of hair.

“I missed you,” Niall whispered into his ear, and suddenly the great king was Liam’s little brother again. “I missed you so much.”

"I missed you too, Ni,” Liam breathed back, and they separated, watching Zayn and Josh clap each other on the back in a brotherly hug. When the two broke apart, Josh grinned widely at Liam and tackled him into a hug as well.

“I told you it’d turn out alright,” the Clan native chuckled into his ear.

Liam laughed. “Some way or another,” he replied. “We hit a few bumps.”

Josh raised an eyebrow at that. “Fill me in later, yeah?” he asked.

“Of course,” Liam told his old friend. “Later.”

The heralds trumpeted again, and Harry and Louis were announced with a fanfare. The two strode in with mischief gleaming in their eyes, and they laughed heartily when Niall and Josh embraced them. Harry spread his arms wide, beginning to tell the story of the bear that he claimed to have taken down himself. Liam laughed, watching carefully while Greg's son walked up to Adi, bowed, and smiled shyly. Adi returned the grin in kind.

Liam closed his eyes and smiled, listening to the sounds of his family reuniting. His necklaces hung comfortably against his chest, the metal warm and familiar, one from the Clan and the other from England. The circlet that had been his would not fit him now, he realized. He was too different, too changed, too much a part of the warm ruggedness of the Clan.

Zayn sidled up beside him, just standing there, silent and reassuring. "She'll be alright," he murmured into Liam's hair, the short bristles of his beard scratching softly against his cheek.

"I know she will," Liam replied, and he opened his eyes to the people that were his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. SMHTL has been my baby for a long, long time, and now it's finally come to an end. I'm incredibly proud of it and I know that I couldn't have done it without the kindness of you guys. And who knows? Maybe I can expand this sometime and continue the series in a new story.
> 
> Much love to you all! Again, leave a comment and drop me a line on tumblr at rocketshipliam and we can chat about the story!
> 
> Thanks!  
> Kara


End file.
